


Prospect Park

by deanharrisackles



Series: Prospect Park Verse [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mild Angst, Panic Attacks, Puppies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-03-20 11:39:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3648945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanharrisackles/pseuds/deanharrisackles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Closed off from the world, Bucky hides away from his fears in a state of self imposed isolation. But when his meddling friends decide to intervene, Bucky is forced out of his solitude and into the world he has tried so hard to forget. Along with the help of one cute little puppy, Bucky takes a fateful trip to Prospect Park that will change his life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! So, this is my first stab at a long Stucky fic as well as a gift to the lovely tumblr user, [fallenbarnes](http://fallenbarnes.tumblr.com) because she is sunshine and rainbows.
> 
> I plan on updating with a new chapter every Monday, so keep an eye out! 
> 
> This is un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy!

It is completely Natasha’s fault that Bucky is currently sitting in a brightly lit waiting room so early on a Saturday morning instead of sleeping blissfully under a mountain of blankets. It is entirely her and that damn vodka she is so fond, of fault.

  
Bucky is the victim here.

  
They were drunk - Bucky more so than Natasha but that is always the case – when she got on to the topic of Barton’s dog and how it chewed through her favorite pair of Louis Vuitton’s. Bucky had laughed, remembering how his own childhood dog would do that to Becca’s shoes all the time, sometimes with Bucky goading him on in the process. That of course, got him lamenting about dogs and their greatness. Natasha watched, a coy smile playing on her lips, her green eyes alight with mischief. Bucky should have known she was up to something right then and there but alcohol had the tendency to dull his ‘Natasha is Scheming’ radar considerably.

  
A few more shots later and some carefully chosen rhetoric on how dogs can improve one’s life and self-esteem, Bucky was agreeing to her nefarious plan to get him a dog.

  
Because drunken ideas _always_ end well.

  
So here he is, sitting in the shelter’s waiting room, sporting a nasty hangover and cursing the very existence of the red headed she-devil seated next to him. The coffee she had handed him as he all but collapsed into her car hadn’t kicked in yet, leaving him grouchier than normal and skirting the razors edge.

  
Despite the empty waiting room, Bucky feels eyes on him everywhere, making his sour mood even worse. He tugs harshly on the sleeve of his long sleeved shirt so the material covers the metal fingers of his left hand. Natasha, not glancing away from whatever magazine she is flipping through reaches for his flesh and blood wrist and pulls it into her lap, stilling his movements.

  
“Relax James.” She says. Bucky refrains from growling at her but begins to tap his foot on the tile floor relentlessly. Natasha sighs and places the magazine down next to her, leveling him with her sharp stare. “You need to calm down or you’re going to scare away the dogs.”

  
“I am calm.” He bites back full of venom. “I can’t believe you fucking brought me here.”

  
“You said you wanted a dog last night. I’m just making that dream a reality.”

  
“I was drunk Nat. You of all people should know not to take me seriously when I’m drunk.”

  
“James,” Natasha says with her signature wicked smile. “That’s the only time I take you seriously.”

  
Bucky grumbles and slouches down in his seat. “Yeah well you still fucking suck.”

  
“Just think of this as a way to get you back into the world James.”

  
Bucky scoffs. _Of course._ Of fucking course that’s her reason; another thrilling chapter in Natasha Romanoff’s quest to ‘Get Bucky Back into the World.’

  
How wonderful.

  
No, fucking stupid is what it is. Her and her damn mission to get him out of his house and back into life he had. Like that was _ever_ going to happen.

  
Besides, who said he even _wanted_ to get back into the world? The world made him this way, who said he wanted to be part of it again? And how the hell was a _dog_ going to help with that? Natasha gives him her patented eyebrow quirk as if she knows exactly what he’s thinking. To be completely honest, he wouldn’t be surprised if she could, so he mentally gives her the finger and crosses his arms over his chest. This is s _o fucking stupid._

  
Fuming, Bucky opens his mouth to tell Natasha just that and call this whole thing off but, before he can get a single word out, the door leading to the back of the building opens and a fresh faced employee steps out, calling his name.

  
“Mr. Barnes?”

  
Bucky snaps his mouth shut and glares. Natasha pinches him on his knee when he fails to answer, causing him to yelp in pain. The employee looks at him with wide eyes, which only serves to piss him off even more. He hears Natasha sigh next to him as she stands.

  
“This is Mr. Barnes.” She replies with a roll of her eyes.

  
“Oh well,” the employee says nervously. “If you’re both ready, you can come on back and meet the dogs.”

  
Seeing no way to get out of Natasha’s devious plan, Bucky slowly gets to his feet and follows the woman to the back. The sound of dogs barking assaults his ears doing nothing to sooth his raging hangover.

  
“So what I’m going to have you do it just hang out with the dogs for awhile to see if you bond with any of them.” The employee explains coming to a stop in front of a large window looking into a room of dogs playing happily with each other. “We want to insure that you and whatever dog you choose is going to be a good fit, to reduce the risk of a return. Do you have any questions?”

  
Bucky looks at her blankly. He wonders if she can see how badly he doesn’t want to be here but, he knows Natasha better than his own hand. There is no way he’ll be leaving here without a furry little puff ball to call his own.

  
“Nah, I got it.” he says roughly.

  
“Alright then,” The employee smiles widely as she opens the door into the play room. “Have at it.”

  
Natasha gives him a little nudge to push him over the threshold, shutting the door behind him. He’s suddenly bombarded with tiny paws and eager tongues trying to reach every inch of him.

  
“Jesus Christ.” He says gently pushing an overzealous Labrador off of him. He makes his way deeper into the room, taking a seat on the floor, a trail of dogs following him merrily. He soon finds himself relaxing as he pets every single dog that comes to him, letting them lick all over his face. It’s soothing really; he suddenly understands why people come here just to sit with the dogs. The only demands they make are for some pats on the head and belly rubs. He can live with that.

  
After awhile the excitement of a new person to play with seems to fade and the dogs go back to playing with each other. But Bucky sits there contently watching the dogs fall over each other, his headache slowly diminishing and a sense of ease like he’s never felt before settling over him.

  
So maybe Natasha’s plan wasn’t so stupid after all. He still didn’t know how a dog was going to get him ‘back into the world’ or whatever but he could see himself going home with one just for the hell of it. Drunk musings or not, dogs were pretty fucking awesome.

  
A small floppy eared puppy comes trotting up to him, sniffing at his left hand curiously before plopping down in his lap and curling into a tiny ball.

  
“You have a rough night too?” Bucky chuckles as he begins to card his fingers through the pup’s soft caramel colored hair. “I bet you didn’t have a friend get you drunk just so you’d agree to their stupid plan.” He mutters softly. The puppy yips in contentment and burrows his head further into Bucky’s stomach. He looks down at the tiny ball of fur and feels his heart swell. Scooping the pup into his arms, he holds him close to his chest like a precious new born baby.

  
Fucking Natasha and her fucking plans.

  
He sits there, holding the puppy as it sleeps, until the employee comes back to collect him.

  
“Looks like you made a friend.” She smiles sweetly.

  
Bucky nods, looking down as the little dog’s ears twitch in his sleep. “I guess this little guy’s alright.”

  
“Do you think Pancake is the one for you?”

  
Bucky scrunches his nose up in confusion. “Pancake?”

  
“It’s the puppy’s name.” The employee explains. “When he was brought in, one of the other employees thought his coat looked like the most perfectly cooked pancakes and well…the name just kind of stuck. You can rename him if you plan on adopting him.”

  
Bucky looks down at Pancake and runs a finger down his black muzzle. “Nah,” Bucky says. “I like Pancake. It suits him.”

  
It kind of does, if he is being honest. The pup is clearly a big old ball of goo that’s too damn cute for his own good. He’s just a big old lazy, fluffy, pancake.

  
“So is Pancake the one?”

  
“Yeah.” Bucky says looking up at her. “He’s the one.”

  
“Wonderful!” She says brightly. “If you’d just leave him here and follow me back to the front we can get all the paperwork and start the adoption process.”

  
“Leave him? You mean I can’t bring him home today?” Bucky asks, frowning. His arms tighten around the little dog protectively, unwilling to let him go.

  
The smile on the employee’s face falls as she shakes her head. “Unfortunately, no. You’ll be able to take Pancake home after the adoption papers have been processed and someone from the shelter stops by your house to make sure the living conditions are substantial.”

  
“How long does that normally take?” Natasha asks, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. The employee jumps, startled by her sudden appearance. Bucky’s known Natasha long enough to be immune to her sneaky spy moves, so he just blinks up at the woman waiting expectantly for her answer.

  
“Worst case scenario, two weeks.” The employee says eyeing Natasha wearily. “But the faster the paperwork is filled out, the quicker I can move the process along.”

  
“Well James?” Natasha says looking smugly down at the sleeping pup in his arms. Bucky shoots her a glare before placing the sleeping dog gently down on the floor. Pancake whines, his little feet moving as if he was running before settling down once more.

  
He pushes himself to his feet and stuffs his hands into his pockets. Pancake looks so small compared to the other dogs still milling about the room. This is not fucking fair. He didn’t even _want_ to adopt a dog in the first place and now not only has this stupid little mutt taken hold of his heart but he has to leave it. He can’t even bring him home. How fucked up is _that_?

  
Natasha, the devil that she is, picks up on his mood and wraps her arm around his shoulders in comfort.

  
“This fucking sucks. You fucking suck.” Bucky grumbles as they walk back to the front of the shelter.

  
“I know.” She agrees. “But he’ll be with you soon enough.”

  
“Just so you know,” Bucky says. “You owe me like, a week’s worth of take out for this shit, seeing it was your brilliant plan and all.”

  
Natasha smiles, clearly proud of herself. “Fair enough.”

  
It takes thirty, long, torturous minutes to fill out all the necessary paperwork and pay the adoption fee - courtesy of one Natasha Romanoff - Bucky grumbling the whole time. Finally once the last piece of paper is signed, the employee gives them a cautious smile and promises someone will call in the next few days for a home visit. Bucky huffs out a gruff ‘thank you’ before stalking out the front doors to Natasha’s car.

  
“That dog must have been something special.” Natasha says as she puts the keys into the ignition.

  
Bucky chooses to ignore her and sits ramrod straight in his seat, a familiar panic setting in. The Brooklyn streets fly by in a blur as he tries to keep his breathing even. Soon, Natasha is pulling up in front of his building and Bucky is off like a flash, flying out of car and into the safety of his apartment. Once inside, the disappointment of leaving Pancake behind rears its head.

  
This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to walk into the shelter, feign indifference and prove Natasha wrong. Instead he’s fallen for Natasha’s trap and moping over a puppy that he might not even get to adopt if someone better comes along. He’s still failing to see how this is going to help him.

  
“I know it may not seem like it now but, this’ll be good for you James.” Natasha says as she leans against the door jam, her lips pulled down into a frown.

  
“You keep on sayin’ that.” He grunts turning to face her, hands on his hips.

  
“I’ll be by tomorrow to help spruce up the place.” She says coming up to him and placing a kiss on his cheek. “Give it time James; you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

  
Bucky doubts that he will but, he’s learned not to bet against Natasha.

  
True to her word, she stops by the next day, her arms laden down with pet store bags and begins cleaning up his sublevel Brooklyn apartment to make it 100% puppy proof. Dog toys soon fill a small basket under the window, a dog bed takes up residence in his room, and food bowls are placed neatly next to the refrigerator like they have always belonged there.

  
Barton comes by not long after, two pizza boxes in his hands and a knowing look in his eyes.

  
“She got you drunk and made you agree to something didn’t she?” He asks, pushing his way through Bucky’s front door.

  
“Yeah, where the hell were you? You’re supposed to stop her from doing that.”

  
“Man you know I can’t make her do anything.” Clint smirks setting the greasy boxes down on Bucky’s coffee table. Natasha is lounging in Bucky’s recliner; her legs hanging over the arm with Bucky’s computer perched on her knees as she looks up information on pet insurance because, he apparently needs that sort of thing.

  
“The hell you can’t.” Bucky grumbles slamming his front door shut. “You probably helped her cook up this stupid ass plan.”

  
Clint looks down at his feet guiltily before busying himself with the food. Bucky’s mouth drops open in shock.

  
“Oh my fucking god, you were in on this _too_?” he breathes. “What he fuck Barton, I thought you were on my side?!”

  
“We’re both on your side James.” Natasha says without look up from the computer screen. Clint nods along in agreement.

  
Bucky rolls his eyes and grabs two beers from the fridge before making his way over to the couch. “If you were on my side you’d stop tryin’ to ‘fix’ me or whatever the hell you’re doing.”

  
“Come on dude, were not trying to fix you.” Clint says trading a plate of pizza for a beer. “We just want to help you get back out there and shit.”

  
“Maybe you both should try minding your own fucking business.” He snaps back his palms beginning to sweat. Natasha looks up from the computer screen to level him with an ice cold stare.

  
“Whether you like it or not,” she says slowly. “After what happened, you are always going to be our business. It’s been three years James, it’s time.”

  
Bucky’s throat goes dry. He doesn’t want to talk about this, never this. He doesn’t need to be reminded of his short comings, of how poorly he’s handled things since…that day.

  
That horrible day that happened _three fucking years ago_. Christ it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. It’s still too fresh, as if it had happened yesterday. The panic attacks may have lessened but the fear still has a strong hold over his heart, the pain phantom and dull but none the less, as present as ever.

  
Three years since it’s happened and not a thing has changed.

  
Clint and Natasha are watching him like he’s ten seconds away from going postal only adding to his growing irritation. While they are busy shooting each other loaded glances, Bucky reaches for his Wii controllers fully determined to move their discussion to less personal things, like how horrible Clint is at Mario Kart.

  
When in doubt, Mario Kart.

  
“If I win the first round, you have to pick up Thai for dinner.” He says tossing Clint one of the controllers.

  
“That’s not fair.” Clint frowns as he slowly looks away from Natasha. “You always win.”

  
“Because you suck at Mario Kart.”

  
“I could always play for Barton.” Natasha suggest blandly disinterested.

  
Bucky cuts off Clint’s happy sound of agreement with a growl. “I swear to god Barton if you let her sub for you, I’m never speaking to you again. And you don’t get to see my new puppy.”

  
Clint’s shoulders slump as he settles further back into the couch, preparing for his epic loss. “So I guess our little plan ended up work out?”

  
“Yeah,” Bucky mutters. “Don’t sound too proud of yourself, if Pancake wasn’t there it probably would have failed miserably.”

  
“Pancake?” Clint questions as the first race starts up. “Who the fuck is _Pancake_?”

  
“That’s my dog’s name you ass wipe.” Bucky says through clenched teeth as he brings Bowser around a tight curve.

  
“Please god, tell me you didn’t name him that?” Clint begs as Toad falls off the race track once more.

  
“And what, like Pizza Dog is any better?”

  
Jesus, Clint was really awful at this game. Like seriously, a baby could beat him.

  
“His name is Lucky.” Barton grunts as his car speeds past the finish line, dead last.

  
“Something, you are not.” Bucky laughs.

  
Natasha slides the computer to the floor and sinks down onto the couch cushion separating Bucky and Clint, reaching for her boyfriend’s controller. “Let me play.” She says.

  
Barton, the asshole, cackles. It’s a close race, Bucky _just_ barely coming in second place.

  
“So when are you picking up the mutt?” Clint asks as Bucky switches off the Wii and throws his controller on the table.

  
Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know whenever someone from the shelter comes over for a house visit I guess.”

  
“I can stop by tomorrow,” Natasha offers, leaning into Clint’s space. “See if I can help move the process along.”

  
“You don’t have to do that.” Bucky says. He would actually _love_ if Natasha did that. He doesn’t know what she would do to make it work - she’s not very forth coming about whatever she does for the government - but Bucky would be all for it if it meant he’d have Pancake home sooner rather than later.

  
For only spending a few minutes with the pup, Bucky feels as if Pancake had always been part of his life. Not having him near, not having him home is one of the most painful things Bucky’s felt. And he’s had more than his fair share of pain.

  
Natasha just hums and snuggles deeper into Clint’s chest. She flips on a movie, something with fifty era cars and two dumb asses standing in the rain.  
“What the fuck are we watching?” He asks grabbing a pillow and holding it to his chest.

  
“The Notebook.” Clint responds, immediately sucked into the movie, his eyes glued to the screen.

  
“Who would have thought,” Bucky says. “That’d you’d be such a sap Barton.”

  
A wayward hand smacks him lightly on the head but Bucky brushes it off with a smile. After the movie’s credits roll, Natasha and Clint say their goodbyes leaving Bucky’s apartment empty once more. He eyes the stack of manuscripts on his desk, biting his lip. He knows he could get a head start now and have at least half of them done before tomorrow or he could call it a night and curse his laziness in the morning.

  
Laziness wins out, as usual.

  
He checks the lock on his front door before falling gracelessly onto his bed, his eyes slipping shut before he can curl up under the sheets.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to give a huge thank you to all who have taken the time to read this and subscribed! It fills my little heart up with joy! 
> 
> Again, this is un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

The call comes late Tuesday morning as he’s powering through the latest manuscript his boss has sent over. It’s more of the same drivel, saccharin sweet, bull shit that has him rolling his eye at every other sentence. What he would give to see a main character bash her date’s skull in or eat his still beating heart of a change, _anything_ would be better than the crap Peirce keeps sending him. The man is a sadist, it’s like he _knows_ just how much Bucky hates romance novels and sends them to him as some twisted form of torture. News flash boss man, it’s working.

Sensing a reprieve from yet another doe eyed virgin who has fallen truly, madly, deeply in love with the resident bad boy with a heart of gold, he reaches for his phone without checking the I.D and wedges it between his shoulder and ear.

“This is Barnes.”

“Mr. Barnes, this is Maria Hill from Park Slope Animal Shelter.” A cool voice replies over the receiver.

Bucky’s stomach drops to the floor, his back ramrod straight in his chair. Shit. “Is something wrong with Pancake? Did the paperwork not go through? Is someone else interested?” he demands, his mind clouding over with doom and gloom - his go to reaction. This is it, this is the call that’s going to crush the tentative hope he has been so carefully building. They are going to tell him he’s ineligible or that some nice wholesome family wants Pancake and that he is just not good enough. 

If automatically assuming to the worst possible scenario is an Olympic sport, Bucky is the gold metal champion. Jumping to conclusions is his middle name, right after grouchy recluse.

“No, Pancake it doing just fine,” Maria says her tone still distant and professional. “All of your paperwork is fine and you are still the only applicant for Pancake’s adoption. I’m calling to inform you that the adoption paperwork has been processed and to see if we can schedule an appointment for a home visit.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief, the tension that is griping his body like a vice slowly uncoiling leaving him lightheaded and maybe a little nauseous - but that can also be from those burritos Clint left in his refrigerator. it's a toss up really. 

“I understand this is short notice but, would you happen to be free today sometime around one?”

“Yes.” Bucky responds quickly. He is _absolutely_ fucking free; in fact he has never been freer in his life.“That works for me.”

“Perfect.” Maria says. “It shouldn’t take too much of your time, just a quick look around your place to see if there are any hazards and such.”

“Yeah, okay.” Bucky nods along. He casts a glance around his living room. It’s amazing how messy such a small place can get in the span of two days. The empty pizza boxes from Sunday have now been joined with new ones and marked up manuscripts are scattered all about on the floor. Not to mention the piles of dirty clothes heaped in the corners of his bedroom. Jesus his place is a fucking _mess_.

“Well alright then, Mr. Fury will be by shortly.”

“Hey,” Bucky says before she can hang up. “If this home visit thing goes well, when will I be able to pick up my dog?”

“Barring no complications, you can stop by anytime before closing.”

“Great thanks.” He disconnects the call and runs his metal hand through his hair. Fuck, it’s really happening. Pancake is coming home and he has a shit ton of work to do.

Bucky pushes away from his desk and begins to clean like a mad man, tossing pizza boxes and empty beer bottles into trash bags and stuffing old manuscripts in to the recycling bin. He double checks that all cleaning materials have been locked away on a shelf that only he can reach and that there is plenty of dog food to last a good long while. Once every surface is cleaned and sparkling, he cleans it again.

After the second bout of fevered cleaning, he forces himself to sit and wait.

And then wait some more.

When his back starts to ache and his legs go stiff, Bucky stands and paces the length of his living room. Time seems to stand still, the seconds ticking by as if they are moving through molasses. He bites his nails and runs his hands though his already messy hair. He even tries to go back to work but the words all seem to run together on the page. Finally, light years later there is a knock on the door. Bucky bounds over and throws it open, revealing a tall, imposing man with an eye patch. Bucky swallows suddenly feeling two feet tall in the man’s presence.

“Are you James Barnes?” The man asks in a commanding voice, his one good eye locked on Bucky. He swallows audibly. 

“Yeah, you from the shelter?”

“I am.” The man says holding out his hand. “Nick Fury.” Bucky shakes the offered hand with a firm grip, stepping aside the let him in. “Let’s get started shall we?” Nick says pulling out a clip board from inside the long, black leather coat hanging from his shoulders. “You live here alone Mr. Barnes?”

“I do.” Bucky replies closing the front door softly before stuffing his hands in his pockets. He catches a glimpse of metal out of the corner of his eye and silently curses himself for not changing into a long sleeved shirt. Nick however, doesn’t seem bat an eye at it. But then again, given the pirate look he’s sporting, he’s probably use to people looking at him differently too.

“And is it correct that you also work from home?”

“Yes.” “What is it that you do exactly Mr. Barnes?”

“I’m a book editor for Hydra Publishing House.” Bucky answers, his hands sweaty and fidgeting from the close scrutiny.

“How often do you go out? You ever take off for a few days and not tell anyone?” Nick asks as he makes his way into Bucky’s bedroom. An uneasy feeling settles in Bucky’s gut. For a just a home visit there seems to be a lot more questions about _him_ and _his life_ than the safety of his apartment. Not that Bucky's life isn't a real fucking page turner but to him, safety seems to be more important than how he takes his eggs in the morning. 

“I don’t get out much these days.” Bucky says with a guarded expression. “And no, I don’t.” Nick sticks his head into the bathroom scribbling something down on his little clip board. He walks slowly around the bedroom, peeking under the bed and opening up Bucky’s closet. Every now and again he grunts at something and make little notes. Nick seems to have thankfully run out of unnecessary, prying questions - or at least until they are back in the living room.

“Tell me what happened to your arm.” Nick asks conversationally sitting down on the couch. Bucky freezes.

Oh _hell_ no.

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” Bucky snaps as he crosses his arms defensively around his chest. He is use to people blatantly staring at him, after all it’s not every day you see someone with a metal arm but Nick’s brash, out right, prying is way, _way_ over the line. _Natasha_ isn’t even allowed to talk about it. That is one area that is off limits for _everyone_ , consequences be damned.

Nick looks at him, his eye cold and unreadable. “It’s just a routine question, that’s all.”

“I somehow doubt all the people who adopt from your shelter have metal arms.” He hisses. “This is a house check, not sharing and caring hour.”

“Oh but it is.” Nick says getting to his feet and stepping into Bucky’s space. Bucky flinches from the closeness but holds his ground. He’s not going to let this asshole intimidate him in his own house damn it. If he wants to make this personal, fine. Bucky’s bite can be just as bad as his bark.

“Really?” Bucky sneers. “So enlighten me, what does my arm have to do with my dog’s well being?”

“It’s part of you isn’t? You are the one I’m most concerned about, not the state of your house. You see Mr. Barnes, people come to my shelter all the time with the promise to love and take of the animals they adopt but, more often than not, I see those animals end up right back where they started, or worse. So excuse me if I stepped on your delicate sensibilities but I need to know _everything_ there is to know about you if you want to make one of my dogs a permanent resident in your home.”

Bucky’s hackles rise. “So what, it’s seen one seen them all with you?” he bites back. “I don’t get the benefit of the doubt, you just automatically assume I’m goin’ fuck up Pancake’s life or hand him over when I’m done?”

“You can’t be too sure these days Mr. Barnes.” Nick points out coolly. “I don’t make it a habit of trusting people.”

“Well then I guess that makes two of us.” Nick looks at him for a second longer before the corners of his mouth tilt up in the slightest smile.

“I guess you’re not going to be answering me then?”

“Damn right I’m not. If you don’t think I’d make a good fit for Pancake then fine. Deny my application but don’t come into my house and blame me for the sins of others. You don’t fucking _know_ me.”

“You’re right I don’t but I know people Mr. Barnes and the people I’ve seen, well let’s just say it’s not the dogs that should be in cages.” Bucky clenches his jaw tightly, itching to hit something, preferably Nick Fury right in his stupid, judgmental face.

“You got any more questions for me like how often I take a shit or my blood type maybe? Or are we done here, I’ve got work to do.” Bucky asks irritably.

“I’ll save those for another time,” Nick says stowing away his clip board. “You can stop by the shelter anytime to pick Pancake up.” Bucky blinks in surprise.

“Wait, what?”

“You’re a pain in my ass Mr. Barnes but I think Pancake will do well here under your care.” Nick says as he shows himself to the door. “Just make sure I didn’t misplace that trust or the next time you see me, I won’t be so nice.”

“This is you being nice?” Bucky asks with an arch of his brow. Nick pins him with an unreadable glare that gives Bucky the feeling of being under a microscope. He shifts uncomfortable on his feet from the attention.

“Have a good day Mr. Barnes.” Nick says. With a swish of his long leather coat, Nick is climbing the stairs and disappearing into the day. Bucky waits just to be sure he’s gone before sprinting into the apartment and picking up the phone.

“Nat.” Bucky breaths as soon as Natasha picks up, cutting off any greeting she might have had. “Are you busy?”

“That depends,” she responds in a droll voice. “What’s wrong?”

“A guy from the shelter came over for a house visit a few minutes ago.” He says in a rush.

“How did it go?”

“Uh, weird actually. Really fucking weird and uncomfortable and I never want to do it again but the good news is, I passed and I can go pick up Pancake. Today. So I need a ride.”

He hears Natasha chuckle and the distinct sound of car keys jingling in the background. “I’ll be there in five. Try not to burn the place down.”

“Fuck you.” Bucky smiles, his mouth feeling strangely twitchy, his voice wavering. In fact his whole body feels _off_ , heavy and paper thin all at the same time. His heart is pounding wildly in his chest, thumping against his rib cage trying to escape.

Fucking hell.

“I love you too James.” She says before hanging up.

Bucky staggers over to his couch, attempting to take slow, even breaths to stave off the inevitable panic attack but his body isn’t listening. His hands are shaking as he runs them through his messy hair, his mind swimming in an ocean of conflicting emotions. They’re clawing at his brain, vying for attention, making his chest feel tight and his lungs heavy. It’s too much too fast with not enough time to comprehend what’s happening. He struggles to find solid ground, the air slipping into his mouth like lead. Water crashes in around him, drowning him, pulling him into the darkness. Bucky struggles to calm down; his ears filling with the ragged sounds of gasps that he knows are coming from him.

Fighting against the onslaught of panic, Bucky pinches the skin on his forearm, the pain biting through the murky vapors of his panic attack. The pain is sharp and real, offering a way out. Bucky clings to it, slowly pulling himself out of the clutches of his fear. He blinks away the unshed tears in his eyes and sucks in a glorious breath of sweet, fresh air. A glass of water is shoved under his face which he takes and empties greedily. Natasha is here, no doubt after breaking at least twenty traffic laws, with a frown on her face and worry in her eyes.

“Hey.” He croaks, setting the now empty glass of water down on the coffee table and leaning back into the soft pillows of his couch. “You got here fast.” Natasha is still frowning as she takes a seat next to him.

“Well something told me I should get to you as soon as possible. Looks like I was right.”

“It’s those spy senses of yours.” he chuckles weakly, all of his energy seemingly drained. “They always seem to be focused in on me. It’s not because you have a crush on me right? I don’t think Barton will like that very much and he gets me food. I don’t want him to cut me off, I'll starve.”

“That would be like crushing on my brother James.” She says pushing a stray hair away from his forehead. “Besides, Clint won’t let you starve, he loves you too much.”

“Wait, Clint has a crush on me?” Bucky scrunches up his nose. Now _that’s_ a scary thought.

Natasha doesn’t fall for his bait, she keeps pushing on. “Stop deflecting and tell me what’s got you so railed up. I though you said the inspection went well?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “Too much all at once I guess. It just got a little overwhelming.”

“You haven’t had a panic attack in a while, you sure that’s the reason why?”

“What else would it be Nat? That Fury guy from the shelter he – you weren’t there it was – I don’t know okay, it was just too much.”

His life has been the exact same for the past three years and now…now everything was about to _change_. He’d have to go outside, beyond his stoop. Dogs need to be walked; they need the fresh air and sunshine. They can’t stay cooped up; they can’t hide away from the world for three years like he has. Bucky can feel panic begin to set in again, leaving him floundering for an anchor. Natasha is there, placing a hand on his chest and speaking meaningless words in his ear, pulling him back from the brink.

“Talk to me James.” She says softly. “Tell me why it’s too much.”

“I’ll have to go outside Nat. I’ll have to cross the street.” he responds weakly. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You can James.” She assures him. “You’ve always had that capability you’ve just lacked the necessary motivation, Pancake is going to be that push.” Bucky blinks up at her, his eyes bright.

“What if he’s not _enough_?”

Natasha frowns before leaning in and placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” She pulls him in close, holding him to her chest and running her finger through his hair. “You are a brave man James Barnes, braver than you know. You’ll get over this. So why don’t we take that first step and go pick up your dog.” Bucky steels himself and pushes up from the couch. Natasha is right, he can do this - maybe. It’s been a long time coming and he _just might_ be ready to make the change - might being the key word. And if things fall apart, well at least he’ll know that he was right all along.

“Fuck yeah.” He says. “Let’s go get Pancake.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks again to all who have read, left comments, kudos, bookmarked and subscribed! I am truly grateful!!   
> I'm really excited for y'all to read this chapter because - drum roll please - we finally meet Steve!!   
> Once again this is un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own.  
> Enjoy!

The first few days with Pancake as an official resident at the Barnes Household are certainly entertaining to say the least. On the first night, Pancake sat at the foot of Bucky’s bed, whining the most pitiful whine known to man. Bucky and his bleeding heart could only survive five minutes wailing before he was scooping the pup up in his arms and letting him curl up on the pillow next to him. Of course Pancake now thinks that’s his bed and refuses to sleep anywhere else. And if Bucky wakes up to a mouthful of dog hair and a rouge puppy sleeping on his face, well that’s a price he’s willing to pay.

He’s certainly become more aware of what he leaves laying around after his only nice pair of shoes suddenly become Pancake’s favorite chew toy. Not to mention that time his pup decided to pee on his latest manuscript but – that wasn’t really a loss, it was shit to begin with.

But having Pancake around, it does something to Bucky. His life is no longer same old boring routine of wake up, work, eat, and sleep. Each day Pancake makes Bucky unwittingly do something new, like take his lunch break outside, behind the apartment building in the little community garden. He no longer confines his work to his desk, reading stack upon stacks of manuscripts in his bedroom while Pancake takes an afternoon nap on his chest or at the kitchen table while Pancake learns that no, Bucky’s feet do not taste good and he should probably avoid those at all costs.

This adorable little, hyper active fluff ball is slowly forcing him out of his shell and into the world that he had tried so hard to ignore. But perhaps the biggest change of them all is the walks, honest to god walks outside the safety of his apartment. They walk together twice a day down the tree lined sidewalk, passing mother and fathers pushing strollers and other dogs so willing to meet a new friend. Bucky even talks to the people he sees, _he’s a Shepherd/Terrier mix, he’s only six months, yeah it really is a beautiful day,_ but their outdoor adventures always stop short when they reach the intersection, the one obstacle Bucky is not yet ready to face. Today, however, is going to be different.

Today is the day they will cross the street. Of course he has been saying that every day since he picked Pancake up from the shelter but, today is definitely the day –Pancake didn’t pee on the floor so that has to be a good sign right? When it’s time for their daily afternoon walk, Bucky is at his desk stalling. Pancake, the big lug is curled up on the couch watching his human do anything and everything he can to delay their departure. But when he runs out of emails to answer and there are no more calls to make, Bucky knows it’s time to face the music. He takes a deep, settling breath, slowly counting to ten in an attempt to keep the panic at bay. His attacks have been few and far between since Pancake’s been around but even when one sneaks up on him, Pancake is always right there curling up in his lap, licking his fingers to keep him grounded.

Picturing himself standing at that intersection now, facing Prospect Park makes him feel like he’s about to climb Mount Everest but left his oxygen tank at home. He knows he’s acting ridiculous, all he has to do is cross one little street but it feels like so much more and it’s embarrassing. Little kids can cross the street, hell squirrels can do it but Bucky...Bucky just stands there frozen in fear waiting for the inevitable pain to crash down on him leaving him gasping for air as if his own metal hand has a crushing grip on his lungs, letting no air enter.

Pancake is suddenly there, forepaws resting on Bucky’s knees, his big chocolate brown eyes looking at him expectantly. Bucky ruffles the hair on his neck, stretching his fingers down his silky coat. He sits there a minute longer letting the love and adoration oozing from Pancake fill him up, letting him gather his courage. He’s going cross that damn road today, so help him god.

Pancake chuffs, his dog breath making Bucky’s nose scrunch. “Yeah, yeah I hear ya.” Bucky gags. “Jesus, we gotta look into gettin’ you some breath mints dude, that shit is rank.” Pancake barks in agreement trotting over to the front door and staring up at the neon green leash. Bucky swallows down a ripple of panic and pushes himself to his feet. He’s going to do this; he’s has to be able to do this. “We’re going to do it today bud.” he tells Pancake as he straps on the leash. “We’re gonna walk to that crosswalk and cross that damn street like normal fucking people.”

The impatient puppy plants a big sloppy kiss on Bucky’s face in support, his little butt wagging excitedly. With a chuckle, Bucky opens the front door and steps out into the day.

It’s perfect out; the warm spring air is refreshing as it hits Bucky’s face. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and Bucky is going to cross the street.

Hell yes he can do this, he can do fucking _anything_.

But as the intersection grows closer, Bucky can feel his momentum fades rapidly. The sky is a little less blue, the sun a little more blinding than before. Sweat breaks out across his forehead, cool and sickly. His heart begins to pump loudly in his ears, his stomach twisting and turning with each step that brings him closer to the edge. There is a small group of people standing at the corner, waiting for the signal to change, mothers pushing strollers, business men dressed in their suits yapping loudly on their phones, teenage hipsters sipping on their overpriced, organic, bull shit coffee. Cars zoom by in a blur on the busy street, making him flinch at every horn blast and angry shout from the drivers. The noise and commotion ring loudly in his ears mixing with the rush of his own rapid blood flow. The ominous red numbers flash vividly on the pedestrian crossing signal, counting down the seconds before he’ll have to take that fateful step onto the street.

…10…

He can still call it off; take Pancake’s leash tightly in his hands and stalk back to the apartment - cross this bridge another day.

…9…

What if it happens again? It won’t just be him this time, he has other responsibilities to think about now; his life isn’t the only one at risk.

…8…

His breath is coming in short, quick gasps. A lady in a smart pant suit is looking at him funny.

He can’t do this.

…7…

The ground feels wobbly,

turning to liquid before his eyes,

a swirling vortex ready to pull him into the darkness.

…6…

He can’t breathe;

                                             he can’t move

he can’t-

…5…

                      It’s too much                                                                                                                                                                                                   not enough.

                                                                                                           The air is so thick

                                                                                                                                                                      it won’t fill his lungs.

…4…

            There are voices

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     murmuring all around him,

                                                                                       his hands shake,

                                                                                                                                                                   he can’t.

…3…

His body is like lead,

                                                                                                                                seconds away from sinking,

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              from falling away.

…2…

                                                                                                   He can’t do it.

                                                       He can’t.

                                                                                                                                                                He can’t.

…1…

He can’t.

Pancake is off like a shot, chasing after the mob of people stepping onto the street, his leash slipping through Bucky’s fingers. He lunges for him, catching the bright green nylon before it slips out of his hand completely, his feet hitting the asphalt as he runs after his dog. He doesn’t notice the people he passes or the line of cars waiting for the pedestrians to clear the road; he only has sight for the caramel colored puff of fluff that has his heart beating a thousand times a second.

He pulls on the leash, prompting Pancake to stop and look at him before he bends over, resting his hands on his thighs, his chest heaving. Bucky sucks in air like a man dying from thirst. He can feel sweat beginning to pool in the dips of his collar bone, his blood pumping steadily against his skin. Looking up, Bucky sees the waxy green of tree leaves and the dust tan of walking paths. Behind him is his street, separated by a road filled with passing cars, a road he unknowingly just crossed.

Stunned, Bucky looks at Pancake; his tail is thumping against the concrete, his tongue hanging out of his mouth completely unaware of what he just did. The little shit literally pulled him across the street, forcing him to take that fearful step, making him move.

Fucking hell, this dog was going to be the death of him.

Pancake sniffs at the air barking happily before he takes off again only this time, Bucky isn’t fast enough to catch him. He chases after his wayward pup screaming his name.

“Pancake!” He yells following him down one of the walking paths. “You little shit get back here! Pancake!”

He runs a few steps more, his panic rising all over again. Fucking figures that the second something goes right in his life, something else has to go horribly wrong. He’s about to call out once more when he spots the tail end of Pancake’s green leash poking out from behind a tall azalea bush a few steps away. Bucky jogs over and scoops up the leash, relief washing over him.

“Thank fuck.” He sighs. “I thought I lost you, you stupid punk. See if I ever take you out again-”

Bucky stops abruptly. Sitting on a bench, looking like he just walk off a movie set with his perfectly styled golden hair and his fucking bearded, chiseled jaw line, is the most beautiful man Bucky has ever seen; his obstinate puppy resting his dirty little paws on the man’s knees licking the remnants of food from his delicate fingers.

Holy shit, that man is hot as _hell_.

“I take it this little moocher is yours?” Captain Hot Ass – as Bucky has so gracefully dubbed him - says with the most adorable smile on his face as he rubs Pancake behind his ears. Bucky kind of wants to kiss him…or punch him. No one should ever look that cute and hot at the same time.

“Uh” Bucky stutters. “Yeah, h-he’s mine.”

“He’s cute.” Captain Hot Ass says with another one of his heart stopping, gorgeous smiles. His eyes are a glimmering, deep blue; like something straight out of one of the shitty romance novels he has read or something equally dramatic yet fitting all the same. “What’s his name?”

“Pancake.” Bucky says his eyes not so subtly making their way up and down the man’s well toned body. He considers himself to be reasonably fit man but this guy, this guy is like a fucking Greek statue, his muscles defined and tight under his smooth skin. It has Bucky’s mouth watering, his fingers itching to reach out and touch.

Captain Hot Ass squints up at him, amusement playing on his stupidly handsome face. Yeah, Bucky really wants to kiss him. And then lick him. And maybe do some not so PG things with him. He finds himself wondering what it would be like to see the man on his knees, those baby blues looking up at him through his stupidly long eyelashes.

“Do you have a deep admiration for breakfast food?” Bucky can feel himself blush, rubbing the back of his hand with his metal arm. He sees the man’s eyes flick to it for a moment before resting once more on Bucky’s face, making him shiver.

“Uh, no actually.” Bucky chuckles weakly. “He had that name before I adopted him. I didn’t feel like I should change it.”

“Well, I think it’s cute.” Captain Hot Ass smiles letting Pancake lick his perfect face, getting dog slobber all in his beard. It’s disgusting – disgustingly adorable and Bucky is going to need that to stop. “I’m Steve by the way.” He says holding his hand out for Bucky to shake. Steve, of course, it’s the perfect Boy Scout name for the perfect Boy Scout. Jesus, he was starting to sound like one of his authors. Soon he’s gonna be writing poetry about his washboard abs and his ass cheeks of steel.

So Bucky takes the offered hand instead, his skin tingling at the touch. “Bucky.” He’ll save those poems for another time.

“It’s nice to meet you Bucky. And you too Pancake.” Steve coos. He fucking coos, scooping up Bucky’s dog and letting him lick all over.

He’s not jealous of Pancake. Not at all.

“I’m sorry about your pants.” Bucky interjects abruptly, breaking up the little love fest between his dog and the hot stranger. His statement hangs in the air awkwardly and Bucky kind of wants to punch himself now but Steve looks down at his pants and chuckles. Pancake has left tiny little mud stains all over the man’s khaki slacks.

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve waves it off looking up at Bucky with those perfect eyes glinting with heat and mischief, sending Bucky’s blood rushing south. “Or you know you can make it up to by getting coffee with me sometime.”

Bucky smiles, damn Captain Hot Ass is smooth as shit; he is so fucking screwed.

“I know this great little place down town, they have the best pastries and they’re dog friendly.”

And just like that everything freezes. It is one thing to grab a coffee here in the park but, coffee down town, in the heart of Manhattan? Bucky just barely crossed the street to get here; there is no way in hell he could go down town, no matter how hot Steve is.

His heart sinks at the realization.

“Or you know,” Steve says smoothly as if picking up on Bucky’s sudden stiffness. “We could just meet here again?”

There is so much hope shining in Steve’s eyes it almost makes Bucky want to puke from how cute it is. He can do this. The park is way more manageable than down town Manhattan. Besides, he’d be lying if he didn’t want to see Steve again. There’s just something so intoxicating about being around him that Bucky wants to experience it more and well, the eye candy is pretty nice too.

“Here’s good.” Bucky agrees with a hesitant smile.

“Great!” Steve says excitedly as he places Pancake gently down on the ground and stands. Shit he’s big, broad shoulders that taper down to a slim waist, only a few inches taller than Bucky himself. “So I’ll meet you here tomorrow around this time?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Bucky nods as he is jerked forward by Pancake who is busy weaving his way between their legs, getting the leash all tangled. He stumbles, falling into Steve’s space only to have a strong hand wrap around his metal arm. Bucky, startled, watches Steve closely to see if he’ll flinch or comment on his unnatural appendage. Instead Steve just chuckles, steadying Bucky and stepping out of the tangle of green leash.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Bucky.” Steve says clapping him on the shoulder before turning away. Bucky watches his retreating back, admiring how nice Steve’s ass looks in those damn slacks. Yup, he’ll definitely be writing some poetry on those cheeks. Pancake jumps on him, barking happily. Bucky reaches down to give his little head a scratch, his heart fluttering in his chest.

“Looks like we got ourselves a date.” He says as letting the words sink in. First he managed to cross the street and now he has a date with probably the hottest man alive.

Natasha is going to shit herself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the support! I'm really glad y'all are enjoying it :)
> 
> This is un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own. Please enjoy!

The next day, Bucky and Pancake leave for the park a full hour earlier than necessary. Granted, they stand at the intersection a full twenty minutes before Bucky can cross without feeling like he is drowning but, they still arrive at the bench way before Steve.

So he takes Pancake for a lazy walk around the park, letting the sunshine warm his face and allowing Pancake to burn off his excess energy. They stop by a coffee vender along the way and grab two cups and a bottle of water. It’s such a beautiful spring day, the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and Bucky feels like he’s about to puke his guts out.

Yes, it is a fucking _wonderful_ spring day.

He’s nervous, like really, _really_ fucking nervous. There are so many ways today can and probably will go horribly wrong. Natasha says it’s completely normal to be nervous on a first date – if this is even a date -, especially when a super hot guy asks you out for coffee; who _wouldn’t_ be? But, it’s been years, three to be exact, since he’s done anything with another human being (movie nights with Natasha and Barton don’t count, they’re too much like family and the thought of hooking up with either of them is enough to make him gag). With Steve though, everything is different, everything is completely unknown.

And right there is Bucky’s problem. Steve is an unknown. He doesn’t know the first thing about him other than he is hotter than the fucking sun. And sure, you’re not supposed to know everything about the other person you just met but that void of unknowing is eating at him, causing him to second guess the whole thing.

It’s been three years and the only real human contact he’s had with another person comes from his family and Clint and Natasha. They know his life; they know the horrors that he’s faced, and the damage done to his body. Steve doesn’t. He might not have said anything when he first saw Bucky’s metal arm but it is inevitably going to come up in their conversation and Bucky’s not so sure he’s ready to have the talk. _Like ever_.

Bucky knows he’s a mess, both mentally and physically. Steve, well Steve is fucking perfect. There is no way in hell he’ll want to continue whatever this is. He probably just wants to steal Pancake away from him and leave him bleeding on the sidewalk.

He slows to a walk in front of the bench and seriously considers just leaving but, Pancake barks happily looking up at him with those big, soulful eyes. He didn’t give up on Pancake and his life has made a turn for the better, he has to at least give this a shot too. And if Steve rejects him, then Bucky will prove to be right and he can go on living as the human equivalent of trash.

Steve has still yet to arrive, so Bucky sets the coffees down carefully next to him and opens the cap of the water, drawing Pancake’s attention away from the bright pink flower he is chewing on. Bucky starts to pour out the water, laughing when Pancake attacks the stream eagerly, causing most of it to splash on his nose rather than his mouth.

Bucky gets so caught up in watching his pup flail around, trying to catch the water that he completely misses Steve’s approach.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Steve chuckles. Pancake immediately stops lapping up the water and begins to jump all over Steve, his little claws catching on the dark blue scrubs that cover his legs.

Bucky looks up and nearly swallows his tongue. If he thought Steve looked drop dead gorgeous yesterday in khaki slacks and a button down, then he has no words for the sexy doctor look he is rocking today.

Steve squats down to let Pancake give him a proper greeting, sloppy dog kisses being planted all over his handsome face, it’s sickening.

“I got you some coffee.” Bucky says abruptly, thrusting the cup out for Steve to take. _Smooth Bucky_ , he chastises himself, _real fucking smooth_.

But Steve is all smiles, accepting the cup graciously and taking a seat next to him on the bench. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t know how you take it so… it’s black.”

“Black is perfect.” Steve says with a dimpled smile. Honest to God dimples. Bucky’s goose is well and truly cooked.

Pancake jumps up onto the bench next to Steve and plops his head down on his lap, Steve’s hands automatically reaching to stroke his soft coat.

Nope, Bucky’s _still_ not jealous of his dog. No way.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long, I had some trouble leaving work.” Steve tells him suddenly, his voice so earnest, like he really would be crushed if Bucky had been here waiting on him for hours. It’s sweet and endearing, making Bucky’s heart pang. There is no way a man like him can be so drop dead gorgeous _and_ have a heat of gold. It’s just not possible.

Clearly Bucky is going insane and Steve is just a clever figment of his imagination his addled brain cooked up.

Bucky shakes his head. “I mean, it wasn’t that long. I might have grown a few grey hairs but I’m not looking into retirement homes just yet.”

Steve ducks his head and laughs, sweet and clear, his eyes crinkling with mirth. Yeah, there is no way this man is real. _No_ fucking way.

“Well I’m glad I got here before you started shopping for caskets.” He replies with a look of mock seriousness.

Bucky nods solemnly. “Yeah that would have been a shame; nothing spells out first date like shopping for caskets.”

“So this is our first date huh?” Steve asks with a cocked eyebrow, his cornflower blue eyes gleaming. Bucky falters his mouth gaping open like a stupid fish. Shit.

Talk about being presumptuous. _Of course_ this isn’t a first date. This is just coffee, just two dudes who barely know each other, sitting on a bench drinking coffee. Or at least it was; Steve’s probably fishing for excuses to high tail it out of there now, all because of Bucky and his big mouth.

“I uh-” Bucky fidgets desperately hoping for some way to salvage the situation.

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve swoops in, bumping Bucky gentle with his shoulder. “I like the sound of a first date.”

“So,” Bucky starts awkwardly. He rubs the back of his neck with his metal hand, the metal cooling his heated skin. “You’re a doctor?”

“What gave it away?” Steve teases.

“Well I would have said your scrubs but anybody can wear those these days.” Bucky sighs. “But I’d have to say the words ‘Steve Rogers M.D’ on your shirt really sealed the deal.”

“I’ll be damned.” Steve says looking down to the little embroidered white lines on his scrub top and chuckling. “And here I thought it was because of my Doctor McDreamy complex.”

“I wouldn’t go so far to say you’re all McDreamy.” Bucky points out thoughtfully, obviously raking his eyes up and down Steve’s form. “I think you’ve got a little bit of McSteamy in you too.”

Steve blushes deep red and Bucky decides right there that he will do anything to see those cheeks full of color.

“And what about you huh?” Steve questions, still petting Pancake even though the little pup is blissfully asleep in his lap. “How do you spend your days?”

“I’m a book editor for Hydra Publishing.” He responds before taking a sip of his now cool coffee. Steve nods his head appreciatively.

“Hydra, that’s quite a prestigious company to work for. You like what you do?”

“Yeah, it’s not too bad.” Bucky shrugs. “Every once and awhile I’ll find a diamond in the rough that makes me remember why I wanted to do this in the first place.”

“And what’s that?” Steve questions, his face so open and genuinely hanging on his every word. “What made you want to be an editor?”

Bucky thinks long a hard. He use to be able to answer this question with no sweat but these days, the shit his boss has been giving him to read, he’s not so sure why he does what he does other than the paycheck. It’s a sad thought to have, realizing that he no longer has the passion for the job he once loved so dearly. But Steve is looking at him with such honestly, such openness that Bucky doesn’t want to wipe that expression from his face.

“The characters.” Bucky says softly. “I love discovering the characters, how the author brings them to life and unwraps each little intricacy of their being. It’s an incredible thing to be a part of. That use to be my favorite part.”

“Use to be?” Steve frowns. “It’s not like that anymore?”

“No, well... yeah. I just mean -” Bucky runs his fingers through his hair. “It’s not the same anymore. My boss, he’s kind of a dick. He keeps giving me these shitty manuscripts with shitty plot lines and empty characters. I’m probably being paranoid but it’s like he’d doing it on purpose to get back at me or something.”

“Get back at you?” Bucky swallows realizing he said too much.

“It’s complicated.”

Steve nods. “I get it, too deep for first date talk.”

“Yeah maybe just a little.” Bucky smiles up at him weakly. Steve rests the hand that’s not currently petting his dog into oblivion on Bucky’s knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Bucky shivers at the touch. “So what about you Stevie?” Bucky questions, watching as Steve’s eyes light up at the nickname that slips effortlessly from his lips. “Do you like being a doctor?”

“Yeah.” He says with that damn earnest smile of his again. “I really do. Helping people who can’t help themselves, helping them feel better…I can’t imagine doing anything better. Plus I get to set my own hours so you know - I have time to meet with you.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to blush. He can feel it creeping all the way up his chest right to the roots of his hair.

This motherfucker is going to be death of him.

“I didn’t take you for a sap.” He grumbles, picking at the lid of his coffee. The gaze from Steve’s eyes is too intense, too open and welcoming for Bucky to take head on. Steve lets out an indignant snort.

“I didn’t take you for a jerk.” He responds playfully.

“Punk.” Bucky shoots back. Pancake twitches, waking slowly, blinking his eyes open. He yawns loudly before crawling from Steve’s lap over to Bucky’s and showering him with happy puppy kisses.

“You’ve got a really great dog Bucky.” Steve says looking at them with something akin to longing. Bucky smiles back sheepishly.

“Thanks.” He says as Pancake begins to chew on his metal thumb. “Do you have any pets?” the question sounds cautious and awkward to his ears but he is desperate to keep the conversation going. Hell, he’ll resort to talking about the weather as long as it keeps Steve on the bench with him just a little while longer.

“Nah, I always wanted one though.” Steve says with a shake of his head. “I was pretty sickly when I was a kid; all kinds of allergies, asthma, chronic colds – the whole nine yards. My Ma didn’t think it would be a good idea to have something prone to shedding running around the house.”

“Your Ma sounds like a smart lady.” Bucky says trying to picture the specimen Steve is now to a tiny, weak, little slip of a kid.

“Yeah, she was.” He replies wistfully. A grey look falls over Steve’s face that has Bucky pushing Pancake in Steve’s direction. Pancake is a good tool in dispersing waves of sadness - Bucky knows from experience - and he is more than willing to use him on Steve if it means he gets to see that smile on Steve’s face one more time. Working his puppy magic, Pancake jumps onto Steve’s lap and rests his front paws on Steve’s giant shoulders. Bucky watches as they share a silent conversation, the dark clouds that formed in Steve’s eyes when he mentioned his mother, slowly fading.

Puppy magic, works every time.

“And what about now?” Bucky prods cautiously now that Steve no longer looks like he is caught up in a storm of bad memories, “You look like you can handle a case of the sniffles.”

Steve chuckles as Pancake lavishes him with kisses. “I work too much now to have any pets. They’d never see me.”

“What happened to that ‘I get to make my own hours’ bullshit?”

Steve blushes again, ducking his head as Pancake nuzzles under his chin. “That may just been my poor attempt at flirting.”

Bucky’s heat pounds loudly in his ears. Flirting means you like someone. Steve was flirting with him. Steve _likes_ him.

“I wouldn’t say it was a poor attempt.” Bucky responds, heat flooding his face. The look Steve gives him is nearly breath taking. He has to ground his feet against the concrete to make sure he won’t fly off into the atmosphere.

They fall into an easy conversation after that, Pancake jumping off and onto the bench bringing them twigs and flower petals he finds as he sniffs out the area. It’s nice - sitting there with Steve - their bodies close but not touching, talking about everything from the latest Transformer’s movie (not that Bucky actually saw it in theaters but, whatever it still sucked) to the best place in the city to get Thai food (again, not that Bucky actually goes out – that’s why he keeps Clint around). It’s peaceful in a way that makes Bucky feel foolish for thinking this date would crash and burn.

If he had to say so himself, he thought things were going pretty well – embarrassing assumptions aside. He is even hoping that maybe they’ll do this again because there is something about Steve, something so pure and magnetic that has Bucky longing to surround himself in it at all times. Steve is talking about his struggle of finding the right apartment after med school while Pancake brings him dead leaf after dead leaf, his tail wagging expectantly for praise. “I swear if I didn’t find the place I’m living in now I was planning on moving back to Brooklyn and just deal with the horrific commute to work.”

“You lived in Brooklyn?” Bucky asks with interest.

“Born and raised, lived in The Heights all my life.” Steve says proudly.

“No shit?” Bucky breathes in disbelief. “I grew up over in Brownsville.”

“No shit?!” Steve repeats with a peel of laughter, by far the most magical sound Bucky has ever heard.

Seriously, Bucky’s pretty sure he just saw a unicorn prance by.

“How fucking crazy is that?!” Steve chuckles. “We’ve been neighbors our whole lives!”

“Small world huh?” Bucky nods along, reveling in the joy Steve is giving off. Pancake jumps around at their feet, animated by their laughter.

“Where’re you at now?”

“Here in Park Slope, over on 12th and West.”

Bucky can’t hold back his own laugh this time because of all the places in Brooklyn, of all the people in the world, this gorgeous, wonderful man lives nine blocks away.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, I live over on 3rd.”

Steve laughs again, this time leaning into Bucky’s space so their shoulders are touching. Steve’s heat seeps into Bucky’s skin warming him from the inside out as Steve chuckles. He wants to make Steve laugh like that always.

“Well then I guess it’s just meant to be then.” Steve says with a glowing smile. He glances quickly down at his watch and frowns. “Buck, as much as I would love to say here with you and Pancake, I gotta get back to work.”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky mumbles dimly aware of Steve’s shortening of his name, the sudden realization that this has to end outweighing its significance.

“You up for date number two tomorrow?”

Bucky can practically feel his eyes light up. “Yeah, absolutely! I mean, only if you can get away from work.”

“For you, I’m always able to get away from work.” Steve says leaning in dangerously close.

Bucky’s breath stops in his chest as he meets Steve’s smiling eyes. With a wink, Steve closes the space between them and places a chaste kiss on the corner of Bucky’s mouth, leaving him stunned.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Steve says leaning back and pushing to his feet. Pancake dances around him merrily, ready to play. He gives the pair of them one last smile before turning and walking off, Bucky still frozen to his seat. His metal hand lightly touches where Steve kissed him.

Holy fucking shit.

Steve kissed him.

Holy _fucking_ shit.

Pancake whines pathetically from where his sits on the ground, snapping Bucky out of his trance. He looks down at his dog with wide eyes, his fingers and toes tingling with pure happiness.

“What the hell did we get into bud?” he asks his sad little pup. Pancake barks before turning his head in the direction Steve went and cocking it to the side in confusion. In the span of thirty minutes Bucky has gone from not knowing a single thing about the handsome Doctor Steve Rogers M.D to knowing that this man is without a doubt the man of his dreams and quite possibly ‘the one’.

It’s a scary thought - a _really fucking scary thought like what the hell Bucky?!_ \- and Bucky’s sure once he thinks more on it he’ll freak the fuck out but for now, for now Bucky is just going to call it like it is – he is completely, irrevocably, one hundred percent, head over heels in love with Steve.

_Holy fucking shit._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of update last week! I was knee deep in term papers and I didn't have a chance to work on the fic. So to make it up to y'all I give you an extra long chapter! Be sure to check out the updated tags for new information. 
> 
> Thank you again for the support!! 
> 
> This is un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Bucky is going to lose his fucking mind. After dealing with countless outfit changes, hours upon hours of unnecessary commentary from the peanut gallery and one over hyped puppy that thinks just because there are clothes on the floor they are meant to be rolled around in, Bucky is about ready to snap.

Since when were dinner date so fucking stressful?

Pulling a thin black sweater over his head, he looks at himself in the mirror. It’s a casual look, dark jeans and a tight fitting sweater that neatly covers his collarbones, hiding the scarred skin of where flesh meets metal. He thinks it’s a fine outfit for a dinner date but then again, he also thought the last twenty were too. Apparently, he has no fashion sense. As if Barton knows better, he wears purple shirts like they’re going out of style for crying out loud. Taking one last look in the mirror and sending up a prayer that this torture will end, he steps out into the living room to face his judgment.

“Hot damn Barnes,” Clint wolf whistles. “If I wasn’t in a committed relationship with a woman I would seriously consider taking this Rogers guy out for a piece of our ass.”

Bucky gags a little because him and Clint? _Hell_ fucking no. “I’m gonna have to pass on that Barton. And maybe seek some counseling.”

“Well he’s not wrong.” Natasha supplies unhelpfully from her place on the floor where she is engaging Pancake in a game of tug of war. “You look good James.”

“How is this one any different from the last one?” Bucky says exasperated looking down at the tight fitting cotton. Seriously, it’s practically the same shirt…just maybe a little tighter.

“The last one made you look like a Grandpa.” Baton says shoveling cheetos into his mouth, getting crumbs all over Bucky’s couch. “This one makes you look like you mean business, like you’re gonna fuck the doctor so hard he’ll need one of his own.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ Barton.”

“Oh that’s right you’re more of a catcher than a pitcher aren’t you? Well have no fear Barnes, you look downright fuckable.”

“I don’t want to look fuckable asshole.” Bucky cries throwing his hands in the air. “It’s just dinner!”

“Just dinner my ass. Or you know… your ass.” He says with a waggle of his eye brows.

“Why are you here?” Bucky asks. “All you’ve done is eat my food and give me horrible mental pictures.”

“I go where she goes.” He shrugs stuffing more of the artificially flavored cheese puffs into his mouth. “’sides, if we left it up to you, you’d be goin’ on this date looking like a Grandpa. Nobody wants to fuck a Grandpa.”

“Jesus Christ Clint, nobody is fucking me!”

“That’s for damn sure.” Barton snorts. “When was the last time you got laid man?”

“None of your damn business.” Bucky snaps. No need to get into his sex life, or rather, lack thereof. Clint keeps on chatting away as Bucky storms back into his bedroom searching for his boots, ignoring the fluttering of butterflies in his gut.

Bucky is way over his head.

Steve had mentioned the idea of a dinner date one day at the park. Instead of meeting at their bench Steve had packed a picnic lunch, an honest to god picnic complete with a whicker basket and a red and white checkered blanket. They were lounging on the grassy field, Steve keeping Pancake entertained by throwing a Frisbee for him to catch. Bucky was content laying there and soaking up the sun. It was the very definition of a perfect day in his book. Of course Steve had to go and ruin it.

Steve had a few vacation days coming up and asked Bucky if he wanted to come over to his place for dinner. It was a simple request, one that Bucky would normally jump on. The problem was the distance. Bucky could handle date at the park or even lunch at his place but traveling just a few blocks to Steve’s made fear creep up his spine and set his nerves on edge. Walking there was clearly out of the questions and car rides…well Bucky wasn’t exactly a big fan of those.

So he had made a noncommittal noise and spent the rest of their lunch date feeling antsy and uncomfortable, like something terrible was about to happen and he had no way to stop it. That terrible feeling came into fruition when Steve proceeded to walk him and Pancake home, falling witness to a rather spectacular freak out at the intersection that lasted for twenty painstakingly long minutes. Amazingly Steve – unfazed – had kissed him gently on the temple, holding his hand through the whole ordeal, giving no inclination of leaving anytime soon.

Of course after that, Bucky had agreed to dinner much to Steve’s delight. What was a ten minute car ride and dinner after all? Bucky can suck it up. Steve is worth suffering through a little panic.

There’s a knock on the door that sends Pancake into a frenzy, forgetting all about his game with Natasha and sprinting to the door, barking like crazy. Bucky rushes out of his room, hopping on one foot as he struggles to slip on his shoe. There is no way in hell he’s going to let Clint of Natasha be the one to welcome Steve. It’s too early in their…whatever this is to scar him like that.

Grabbing Pancake by the collar, he holds the dog back and opens the door.

Steve, looking hotter than anyone has a right too in a button down and khakis, graces him with a wide smile. “Hey Buck.” His shoulders are hunched and his hands are stuffed into his pockets as if he is trying to appear as small as possible but his blue eyes are shining brightly, giving way to his excitement.

“What’s up Doc?” Bucky returns his smile, the butterflies in his stomach having a heyday. “Come on in.”

The man ducks in, dropping down to a squat so Pancake can place his forepaws on those broad shoulders and lavish him with sloppy kisses. Moments like these makes Bucky wonder if his own dog likes Steve more than him. He wouldn’t be surprised, Steve is a literal Disney Prince and he’s just the ugly stepsister.

“You ready to go?” Steve asks pushing himself to his feet, whipping the puppy slobber from his beard. It’s disgustingly adorable. “Yeah, let me just grab my coat.” He replies turning on his heel only to find Natasha and Clint standing right behind him with their arms crossed over their chests looking just like those creepy ass twins from The Shinning.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us James?” Natasha demands in a strangely vacant voice like she is trying to give him nightmares. She knows how much he hates that movie.

“Yeah man,” Clint echoes, copying his girlfriend right down to the T. he’s is going to fucking kill them in their sleep. “Where are your manners?”

“Probably at the same place as your sanity.” Bucky grumbles. “Steve this is Clint and Natasha, my asshole friends who live to embarrass me.”

Of course – ever the gentleman – Steve smiles at them warmly and shakes their hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Is it?” Clint asks tilting his head to the side, going for that whole possessed lunatic look. Bucky’s gotta say he’s really rocking it.

“You’re not about to give me the whole ‘if you hurt him I’ll kill you speech’ are you?” Steve asks with a quirk of his lips and an arch of his brow. It’s impressive the way he’s holding his own against them, many have fallen prey to Barton and Romanoff’s ‘Meet the Parents’ act. But Steve is taking it in strides, understanding their intent but not taking them too seriously.

It’s kind of a turn on.

“That depends Steve.” Clint says with an impressive bitch face. “Do we need to? Because Natasha here works for the government – real nasty stuff – and I don’t miss.”

“Oh my god Barton shut up.” Bucky groans. He is seriously reconsidering their status as friends. “You sound ridiculous.”

“No, it’s okay.” Steve chuckles with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “He’s just being protective…like a little mother hen.”

Natasha lets out an indignant snort as Barton’s jaw hits the floor. Steve just keeps on smiling, the smug little shit.

“Well anyone who can render Clint speechless is alright in my book.” Natasha smiles as she collects Pancake in her arms. She plants a kiss on both of their cheeks before pulling Clint along into Bucky’s bedroom. “You kids have fun.” She tosses over her shoulder.

“Hey don’t have sex in my bed!” Bucky shouts as he watches them retreat into his room. “And don’t do it in front of my dog!”

His only answer is the snick of his bedroom door closing.

Bucky slowly turns toward Steve, a look of pure horror on his face. “They’re gonna fuck in front of my dog.” He says weakly.

“Nah, I’m sure they’ll put on a movie for him out here or something.” Steve says bumping his shoulder against Bucky’s. “They don’t look like an exhibitionist couple.”

Bucky pales, his whole body shivering at unwanted memories. “You have no idea Steve.”

“Come on man, we should probably get going before they really go at it.” He chuckles as Bucky audibly groans. He grabs his coat off the back of a kitchen chair and slings it over his shoulder, ignoring the obvious knocking and exaggerated moans emanating from his bedroom. Honesty, he doesn’t know why do puts up with these fuckers.

“You’ve got quiet the group of friends there Buck.”

“Yeah they’re something alright.” Bucky grumbles as they step out into the darkening twilight. “More like possible insane asylum escapees.”

“Aw come on,” Steve says opening the passenger door to the pale blue pickup parked on the curb. “They don’t seem that bad.”

“Trust me Stevie,” Bucky deadpans. “They are that bad, maybe worse.”

Steve chuckles and shuts the door, closing Bucky in the small cabin. The familiar panic of being in car starts creeping in but Bucky clamps down on it hard. _I’m not going to freak out, I’m not going to freak out, I’m not going to freak out_ , he repeats over and over in his head like a mantra, clenching his hands tightly into fists. He takes a deep breath, breathing in the distinct smells of Steve; warm dryer sheets and orange blossoms. It’s comforting, wrapping around him like a security blanket, helping the panic dissipate.

The driver side door opens as Steve jumps in and starts the engine. Smooth jazz fills the cabin, a red blush spreading over Steve’s face.

“We don’t have to listen to this if you don’t want, you can change it if you want.” He says waving at the radio.

“You a fan of 30’s jazz?”

Steve blushes harder. “Yeah it’s kinda a guilty pleasure of mine.”

“There’s nothin’ guilty about Benny Goodman.” Bucky says his fist slowly relaxing even as cars zoom past his window. “So what’s on menu tonight Doc?”

“Friday Night Special” Steve says a coy smile playing at his lips.

“Come again?”

“It’s somethin’ my Ma use to make back in the day.” Steve says with a chuckle. “Homemade burritos.”

“Where’d you get the name?” Bucky asks with a smile.

“You know, I’m not really sure. Ma would make it a lot on Fridays, ‘specially before lent to make up for all the fish fries she’d drag me to at the church.”

Bucky snorts, shaking his head in disbelief because this, this just can’t be happening. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?”

“ _You!_ ” Bucky cries gesturing at Steve. “The jazz loving, good ‘ol Catholic boy who lived right in my back yard; how the hell did we never cross paths?”

Steve arches a brow, his own disbelief coloring his face. “You Catholic too?”

“Raised but not practicing.” Bucky smiles, as the truck pulls down a residential street. It’s unbelievable that he and Steve share so much and yet are only meeting for the first time now. It’s almost unfair, Bucky could have had Steve in his life a long time ago, building a friendship that hopefully would blossom into something more. But Steve’s here now, looking at him with those perfect blue eyes and that heat melting smile on his face. Bucky thinks, it’s better late than never.

“It seems we have quite a lot in common Mr. Barnes.”

“It seems as if we do Doctor Rogers.” Bucky replies. Steve just shakes his head and brings the pickup to a halt outside a modest, three story brownstone with whitewashed brick. “Nice digs man.” Bucky comments, peering out the window.

Steve rubs the back of his neck looking bashful. “Eh, I do alright. Come on, the burritos won’t make themselves.” He says throwing the truck into park and hopping out.

“I’ve got to work for my dinner?” Bucky whines, sliding out of the car. “That’s no way to treat a date pal.”

“Shut up jerk, it’ll be fun.”

“It’ll be somethin’ alright.” Bucky grumbles playfully as Steve unlocks his front door. They step inside the darkened room, Steve flipping on the lights. It’s a comfortable open space with pale yellow walls and white trim. Black and white pints of the Brooklyn skyline, some seemingly hand sketched, are spread all along the room, mixing in with personal photographs of a beautiful woman with blonde hair wrapping her arms around a thin, young boy.

Steve leads him deeper into the house, into the open kitchen and begins pulling ingredients out of the fridge and placing them on the white marble island.

“You afraid I’ll cook you under the table?” Steve jokes reaching for a skillet.

“Hardly.” Bucky scoffs, reaching for the ground beef and tearing open the package. “Step aside pal and prepare to be amazed.”

“Amazed, you don’t even know the recipe Buck.” Steve says taking the meat from Bucky’s hands and plopping it into the skillet. He grabs a pot and fills it with water, setting it on the stove so it can boil.

“Yeah that’s why you’re gonna tell it to me and I’m gonna make it.” Bucky says playfully pushing Steve out of the way and standing in front of the stovetop. He grabs a wooden spoon and starts breaking up the meat into little chunks.

“How about we both make it huh? Combined and conquer?” Steve suggests bumping his hip against Bucky’s opening up cans of corn and black beans. Bucky glances up at Steve’s face to see those blue eyes shining with humor, the corners of his lips tilting up to form a playful smile. Bucky can’t help himself; he leans into Steve’s space as if pulled by a magnet and kisses him. Their lips meet, sweet and chaste and perfect, warmth spreading all throughout Bucky’s body.

“Yes chef.” He says pulling back, licking his tingling lips. Steve’s eyes track the movement, hungry for more. Chuckling, Bucky pushes Steve back and rolls up the sleeves of his sweater, his metal arm glinting in the bright kitchen lights. “So are you gonna tell me how to make this shit or stare at me the whole night?”

Steve just shakes his head, draining the corn and beans and tossing them into a bowl. “I don’t know Buck, that second option sounds pretty tempting.”

“Well, see that puts me in a difficult situation.” Bucky points out as he stirs the browning meat, not taking his eyes off of Steve’s face. “If you’re so busy starin’ at me, how am I gonna know how to make the Friday Night Special?”

“Oh I’m sure you can figure it out.” Steve said before leaning back in and capturing Bucky’s mouth with his own, his right hand cupping Bucky’s jaw. Steve’s tongue licks over Bucky’s chapped lips, causing them to part and allow him inside. His left hand comes to rest on Bucky’s hips, pulling him close so their bodies are flush, the wooden spoon in Bucky’s hand clattering into the pan. Their noses bump as the kiss deepens, a breathy moan slipping past Steve’s teeth as Bucky’s flesh and blood fingers tangle in his short hairs, Steve’s beard scratching along Bucky’s jaw line.

Bucky’s heart flutters in his chest like a caged humming bird desperately trying to get out; his mind a puddle of mush, completely lost in the seductiveness of Steve’s kiss. He feels like a man dying of thirst and Steve’s warm breath ghosting over his face is the first drink of water he’s had in decades. It’s pure bliss, heaven on earth, every single cheesy thing that he’s read in those horrible romance manuscripts come to life and Bucky wants more, so much more.

The water on the stove begins to boil over, pulling Steve’s attention away from Bucky’s mouth. A whimper escapes past Bucky’s lips as Steve sidesteps around his body to turn off the heat and add some rice.

“I guess we should probably wait until after the food’s been made to make out like teenagers.” Steve blushes, rubbing a thumb over Bucky’s cheek bone.

“Yeah.” Bucky agrees breathlessly, still riding high. Steve chuckles and looks down at the wooden spoon that thankfully has not caught on fire from where it is resting in the pan.

“Well shit.” He sighs looking at the bubbling grease and raw meat that covers the handle.

“I got it.” Bucky says without thinking, plucking it out of the hot meat and grease mixture with his metal hand. The heat barely registers as he dumps the spoon into the sink and washes it off. His metal hand is good for feeling pressure but temperature…not so much. It’s a blessing and a curse but one that he’s come to deal with. Turning, he hands the newly cleaned spoon to Steve only to find Steve’s eyes looking at his mental arm with curiosity. Bucky stills and feels panic begin to in his throat, making it hard to breathe. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Everything was going so perfectly and then Bucky had to go and ruin it by acting like a freak. Now Steve is going to spend the rest of the night shooting questioning glances at his arm and dancing around him like he’s made of glass, prying questions on the tip of his tongue. It makes Bucky feel like crying.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He croaks out in an unsteady voice. He was hoping Steve would be different, so far he had proven to be but now, now when Bucky’s disability is staring him right in the face, Steve goes and acts like everyone else: curious, put off, and too damn nosey. Steve’s eyes flick to his face guiltily.

“I’m sorry, that was rude.” Steve says soothingly, taking the spoon from Bucky’s hand and placing it down on the counter. He takes Bucky’s metal hand in his own and brings it to his lips, placing a feather light kiss on his knuckles making Bucky blink up at him in surprise. Well, this is…new. “I’m sorry it’s just – you’re amazing Buck, every part of you.”

Heat floods Bucky’s face. No one has ever called him amazing. He doesn’t know what to think of it, how to take it, what to say so he just stands there with a dumb look on his face. That’s what he gets for being presumptuous, a swift kick in the ass with a healthy side of ‘you’re a fucking moron to think Steve is anything like other people’.

“I’m serious Bucky, I’m really sorry for staring but you are _so beautiful_ , I can’t believe how lucky _I am_.”

Bucky blinks at him. “The meat’s burning.” He says dumbly. Steve turns on his heel quickly and shuts the heat off and removes the skillet from the oven.

“Shit.” He curses again. Bucky snaps out of his stupor and lets out a feeble chuckle directed more at himself than anything…and hearing Steve the boy scout curse is kind of funny.

“Looks like I did cook you under the table.” He jokes weakly trying to get back to the light and fun atmosphere they had started in before he had to be a loser and ruin it.

Steve pins him with a disbelieving look. “You were the one who was supposed to be watching the meat.”

“I was.” Bucky says with a waggle of his eyebrows. Steve huffs and scoops the meat into a serving bowl.

“Grab the taco seasoning and salsa will you?” he says pouring the grease into the empty can of corn.

Bucky nods in response and grabs the requested items and places them down next to Steve. He watches as Steve folds the corn and beans into the meat and salsa mixture. The rice is added next, completing the Friday Night Special filling. Steve takes a few seconds to heat up a couple of tortillas before filling them with the mixture and topping them off with shredded cheese and sour cream.

“Tada!” he says sliding the opened face burrito over to Bucky. Bucky’s stomach rumbles loudly causing them both to snicker. “Guess we finished right on time. You want a beer?” Steve asks.

“Yeah that would be great.”

Steve smiles and grabs two beers from the fridge and leads Bucky into the living room, setting the beers down on the coffee table and taking a seat on the floor. Bucky sits down next to him and slides Steve’s plate over. The eat in a comfortable silence, shoulders bumping every now and then, enjoying the fruits of their labor.

“Jesus Steve.” Bucky says around a mouthful of food. “This is _fucking_ delicious.”

“Told you it was going to be worth it.” Steve says with a smirk leaning back against the couch.

“And you weren’t fucking kidding, damn. This is like the best burrito I’ve ever had. I’m never going to be able to top this; seriously, you’ve ruined me for all other burritos Rogers.”

“Mission accomplished then.”

“Yeah well it’s also your problem. You’re gonna have to make this for me all the time now.”

“You plannin’ on coming over again?” Steve asks coyly bumping into Bucky’s side.

“Oof, don’t do that, I might explode.” Bucky groans leaning back. “But hell yeah I’m coming over again, if you promise to make the Friday Night Special.”

“Is the food the only reason for comin’ over?” Bucky glances over to see Steve staring at him with a heated gaze, licking his lips, his left hand resting on Bucky’s knee. His heart picks up speed again, his body moving on its own accord into Steve’s space.

“Well the not the only reason.” Bucky replies huskily, Steve’s hand slowly trailing up his thigh.

“Oh yeah?” Steve smirks, egging him on.

“Yeah I can think of another reason.” Bucky shrugs, his face now inches away from Steve’s.

Steve chuckles, his breath washing over Bucky’s face. “And what reasons are those?”

“Oh I don’t know.” Bucky sighs swinging his leg around Steve so he is straddling the doctor’s hips, resting his ass on the tops of Steve’s muscled thighs. He looks into Steve’s lust blown eyes and grinds down, feeling Steve’s cock harden beneath him. “There’s this cute doctor that I _kinda_ like.”

“Kind of?” Steve asks, grabbing hold of Bucky’s hips, his thumbs sneaking under his sweater to rub at his skin.

“He’s charming, likes my dog, and is probably the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.” Bucky says, his arms resting on Steve’s broad shoulders.

“Probably?” Steve questions mouthing along Bucky’s neck drawing out a desperate moan.

“M-most definitely.” Bucky gasps as Steve’s hands travel up his chest, pinching a nipple into hardness. “Oh god _Stevie!_ ”

Steve continues to kiss all along his neck, moving up to his jaw before his soft lips are on his again, this time Bucky opening willingly for Steve’s tongue to lick inside. This kiss is nothing like the deep, passionate kiss they shared while cooking dinner. This kiss is hot, heavy, and desperate. Steve pulls at Bucky’s sweater, sucking on his lips and biting down playfully until Bucky breaks them apart to help Steve remove his shirt.

“Bucky.” Steve whispers, his fingers touching the scarred seam where flesh meets metal with reverence. Bucky shivers, the sensation of someone other than himself touching that area overwhelming. “You’re beautiful, _so beautiful_.” He says again before diving in for another kiss, their teeth knocking together uncomfortably in his enthusiasm.

Bucky fumbles with the buttons on Steve’s shirt as he continues to roll his hips, his own cock hard and aching in his jeans. “Want you.” he pants as the buttons finally come loose exposing Steve’s perfectly toned chest. “Jesus.”

“Steve’s fine.” The little shit chuckles fumbling with Bucky’s belt.

“Punk.” Bucky shoots back before licking a stripe up the side of Steve’s neck, his metal hand undoing the button on Steve’s khakis.

“Jerk.” Steve moans as Bucky rubs a hand over his bulge, pulling the elastic down over his balls exposing his thick, hard cock. It makes Bucky’s mouth water. With his left hand wrapped around Steve’s neck, Bucky licks into Steve’s mouth gasping when Steve takes his cock into his hand and gives it a languid pull, thumbing over the head and smearing precome down his shaft.

“Steve, Stevie… _please!_ ” Bucky whines throwing his head back as Steve takes both of their cocks into his hand and starts to move them together in a steady pace.

“Fuck, _Bucky_.” Steve groans, his free hand pulling Bucky’s lips down to his own. It’s perfect, everything Bucky never knew he wanted. A fire is burning low in his belly, creeping up his spine with each pull from Steve’s hand. God he’s missed this, being with someone, feeling their skin against his. The warmth of another mouth, the heat in someone else’s eyes boring into his, full of love and passion. He missed it so fucking much and now, with Steve’s hand on him, Steve’s lips pressing kisses on every inch of exposed skin, Bucky feels like he’s going to float away and never come back down.

“Oh God, _Steve_.” Bucky pleads resting his forehead on Steve’s, the burning ball of fire growing larger with each passing second. “P-please _Stevie_ , please.”

“You wanna come Buck?” Steve asks in a husky voice looking up at his through his long lashes. “Y-you…fuck…you gotta tell me.”

“ _Yes_.” Bucky cries, holding on to Steve’s shoulders for dear life. “Fuck, yes _Steve_ …yes.”

“Come on Buck.” Steve whispers, nipping at Bucky’s open mouth. “Come for me.” With a cry, Bucky comes spilling his release all over Steve’s hand, his vision whiting out from the pleasure. He can hear Steve grunt, letting out a long moan as he paints Bucky’s chest white. Their rough pants fill the space as they both struggle to come down, skin damp with sweat and lips cherry red. Steve blinks up at him owlishly, looking disheveled and completely worn out. Bucky laughs before placing a soft kiss on his forehead. He’s so fucking beautiful.

“Yeah I can think of a couple of reasons to come back.” He tells him, running his fingers through Steve’s hair before rolling off him and collapsing by his side. Steve turns his face towards him and smiles full and bright.

“I’m glad I could help you out with that.” He leans forward and kisses him again, sweet and perfect. Steve pushes himself to his feet and disappears into the kitchen, coming back a few second later cleaned up – sans shirt – holding a towel in his hand. Sitting back down, he gently cleans Bucky off peppering him with sweet little kisses.

“Such a gentleman.” Bucky comments with a smirk, tucking himself back in but leaving his sweater in a pile on the floor.

“Shut up, you love it.” Steve sighs, throwing his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, running his thumb up and down the metal plating of his arm.

“I do,” Bucky agrees taking hold of Steve’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “I really do.”

The sit there in silence, hands intertwined, chests rising and falling in tandem. Bucky’s pretty sure he’s never felt this happy in his life. Steve, he’s smart, and funny, and probably the most genuine person left on the planet. To be honest, he’s not entirely sure why Steve wants to be with someone like him but he’ll take it. If it means keeping Steve in his life for a little while longer, Bucky will do anything.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask.” Steve says suddenly. “Why did your friend call you James?”

Bucky snorts and lets his head fall onto Steve’s shoulder. “It’s my name; Bucky’s just a nick name.”

“So James Barnes? That’s very formal sounding.” Steve chuckles.

“Yeah that’s why I go by Bucky.”

“Okay so follow up” Steve’s pulse pounding deep and steady in Bucky’s ear. “How’d you get Bucky from James?”

Bucky groans. Guess they were familiar enough now to share childhood trauma. “Middle name’s Buchanan.”

“James Buchanan Barnes. Were your parent’s history buffs?” he laughs.

“Takes one to know one.” Bucky humors “I didn’t even know who I was named after until like, fifth grade. You got some deep abiding love for history or somthin’?”

“Nah, I’m just good like that.” He shrugs resting his head on top of Bucky’s.

Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes. Such a punk. “Good my ass, more like a fucking show off.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve yawns, his breath tickling the hairs on Bucky’s head. Bucky hums contently; a picture sitting on an end table catching his eye. A young woman, no doubt Steve’s mother, has her hands wrapped around a tiny Steve, his eyes closed tight in laughter, his mouth open in a wide smile.

“So you really weren’t lyin’ about bein’ a little slip of a thing back in the day huh?” Bucky says nodding to the photograph.

Steve huffs out a humorless laugh. “I told you, couldn’t make 100 pounds soaking wet.” He grumbles. “Looked like a pathetic dork.”

“Aw, I think you looked cute. Like a floppy little puppy.” Bucky says looking up at Steve with a dopey grin. Steve rolls his eyes but chuckles anyways.

“Yeah well you’d be the only one.” he sighs. “Made my educational years hell, got into a lot’a fights that didn’t make my Ma too happy.”

“Now that would’ve been a sight to see.” Bucky snorts. “Tiny little thing like you full of all that self righteous anger, bustin’ up some puck ass bullies.”

Steve barks out a hearty laugh pulling Bucky in closer. “I can go find some drunk asshole to rough up if that’ll make you happy.”

“Nah wouldn’t be the same. I guess I missed out on my opportunity to see tiny Steve Rogers in action.” He sighs morosely like he truly did miss out on one of life’s great wonders. Steve ribs him playfully in the side making Bucky grunt.

“What about you, Jerk. What were you like in High school?”

“Boring as fuck.” He says simply. Really, he was nothing special. Just kind of there in the background, that kid who always hung out the resident ice queen, Natasha. “No really,” he adds in response to Steve’s disbelieving huff. “Worked on the school paper, hung out with Nat, skipped more classes than I should’ve. Seriously, nothing special here.”

Steve kisses him lightly on the temple. “Well I think you’re something special.” “And I think you’re a fucking sap.”

“Shut up jerk.” Steve mumbles, nudging him in the side again. “Here I am tryin’ to be nice and you gotta be mean. I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“It’s cuz I’m a good lay.”

Steve nods thoughtfully. “Yeah I guess so.”

“You guess so?” Bucky cries out indignantly, sitting up. “Son, I’m the best piece of ass you’re ever gonna get.”

“So touchy.” Steve laughs pulling Bucky back down against his chest. Bucky crosses his arms and pretends to pout like a kid until Steve is kissing him, slow and sweet. Steve brushes a few stray hairs off of Bucky’s forehead, looking at him like he is the sole reason for getting up in the morning, as if he hung the sun and moon.

“You gonna ask about this?” Bucky asks quietly, waving his metal fingers in the air. Steve doesn’t take his eyes away Bucky’s face.

“I figure, you’ll tell me when you’re ready.” He says with a shrug. “And if I’m never ready?”

“Well I hope you’ll trust me enough one day to tell me but until then, I’ll deal.” He smiles tucking Bucky’s head under his chin. “I really like you Buck, so I’m with you ‘til the end of the line pal.”

Bucky smiles. “Fucking sap.” He mummers as he closes his eyes, Steve stroking an hand down his back. “Good thing I have a soft spots for saps like you.”

“Yeah.” Steve chuckles kissing the top of his head. “Good thing.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting, I wish I could say I have a good excuse but I don't. Time just got away from me. Hopefully, this chapter will make up for my absence. There should only be one more chapter left - with a epilogue - and I hope to post them on time. 
> 
> Anyways, here is chapter six. As always this is un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Enjoy~

Bucky doesn’t get sick. He doesn’t know why all he knows it that he just doesn’t. It’s weird and probably means something horrible, like he’s going to lose all of his hair and become an evil mastermind. Even as a child his father would always comment on his iron clad immune system to all of his buddies, like it was some high honor to have a kid that didn’t get the sniffles. He would say his son was as healthy as a buck – much to Bucky’s dismay. Regardless of his childhood trauma or his impending slip into the world of villainy the point still remains, Bucky doesn’t get sick.

So it’s strange that he finds himself a few weeks after his and Steve’s very memorable dinner date, tucked under Steve’s arm watching some stupid World War II documentary that Steve has been raving about for weeks feeling like he’s about to sweat through his shirt. It’s a mild spring evening, the weather still coasting through mild temperatures nowhere close to the scorching summer heat that June and July bring. It makes no sense that Bucky’s shirt is damp with sweat and his skin feels like it’s on fire.

A loud explosion fills the screen as a prim British voice goes on and on about trench warfare and mustard gas. Bucky’s stomach rolls uncomfortably and that’s the only warning he gets before he is sprinting to the bathroom and spilling the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

Things seem to pass in a blur, gentle hands and soothing words manhandling his body until he is laying flat on something cool and soft. Steve’s voice floats in and out of his fuzzy brain every now and again, always reassuring and comforting. Water brushes his dry lips, the liquid slipping down his abused throat like salvation. He can feel Pancake’s sandpaper tongue on his feverish skin, his soft fur bushing gentle across his cheekbones. Bucky wants to tell them that he’s okay, that he doesn’t get sick, he must have had some bad take out, that he’s not trying to get out of watching the documentary but his body feels like lead, slowly sinking down to the bottom of a darkening sea. It’s peaceful under the water so Bucky let’s himself go, trusting Steve to be there when he wakes.

A hand brushes over his hair and Bucky lets the current pull him into the darkness.

Bucky wakes with a jolt – his chest is heaving as if he has just finished running a marathon – squealing tires and crunching metal echoing in his ears. The sheets are twisted around him, pinning him to his bed. He frantically tries to worm his way out, confused and completely out of his mind with panic from the remnants of a dream he can’t remember. Pancake’s doggy bed is empty and from what he can tell, nowhere to be found. He doesn’t know why but he needs to find his dog. Right the hell now.

“Pancake?” Bucky tries calling out but his throat is raw and scratchy, barely louder than a whisper. He finally frees himself from the tangle of sheets and stands up on shaky legs. The room around him tills as he takes a step, sending him crashing back down onto his mattress.

The door to his bedroom opens quietly; Steve’s concerned face popping out.“Buck?”

“S’eve?” Bucky moans pitifully, his eyes closed against the wave of dizziness washing over him. “Wha’s happenin’? W’ere’s Pancake?”

“Pancake’s fine, he’s in the other room.” Steve says gently, the bed dipping as he sits down next to Bucky and pulls him to the center of the bed. A cool hand finds Bucky’s forehead sending sweet relief over his burning skin. Bucky moans leaning into the touch. “How are you feelin’?”

“’m dyin’.” Bucky groans, curling up into Steve’s lap; fingers carding through his sweaty hair soothingly.

Steve chuckles and adjusts Bucky so his head is resting comfortably on his thigh. “Well you certainly look it.”

“S’mean.” Bucky replies, his voice muffled by Steve’s stomach.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Steve amends, kissing the shell of Bucky’s ear. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“You comin’ over t’watch that documen’ary.”

“Yeah and then you started puking up your guts.” Steve tells him. “You’ve been asleep for 18 hours.”

Bucky groans. “Shit.”

“The good news is, your fever finally broke; if it kept going up I was gonna have to take you to the hospital.”

“Good thing my boyfriend’s a doctor.” Bucky says snuggling closer to Steve. The dizziness has started to dissipate but his body still feels out of sorts, weak and tired despite his ‘little’ nap.

“Good thing.” Steve hums in agreement. “You mind if I take your temp one more time before you nod off again?”

Bucky makes a noncommittal noise and whines when Steve set him down gently on the bed, his hands grasping at air in his pathetic attempt to keep his Steve shaped pillow in his possession. Thankfully, he’s back seconds later and sticking hard plastic into his ear. The plastic beeps and Steve switches to his other, careful brushing his hand over Bucky’s hair. After the second beep, Steve removes the thermometer and makes a content sound.

“What’s the word Doc?” Bucky asks as Steve maneuvers his body around on the bed so his head is resting on a pillow and cool sheets are thrown over his legs.

“99.7, you are officially fever free.” Steve says happily placing glass in Bucky’s hand, encouraging him to drink. Bucky sucks down the water, letting in sooth his raw throat. “Slowly Buck, slowly. You don’t want it coming back up.”

Bucky pulls a face and hands the glass back to Steve, the promise of sleep calling out to him.

“Get some rest Buck.” Steve says with a kiss to his forehead. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Bucky smiles and drifts off, Steve’s smiling face the last thing he sees before he slips into the darkness.

The next time Bucky wakes, it’s slow and comfortable. His body feels sore and his throat still feels like sandpaper but for the most part, he feels about a thousand times better. The smell of frying bacon and cooking eggs make his empty stomach grumble loudly, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten in over 20 hours. Bucky throws off the sheets and shoulders open his bedroom door ready to devour all of the food in his apartment when he stops suddenly in his tracks, floored by the scene unfolding in his kitchen.

Steve is standing at his stove in nothing but his boxers, miles of well toned pale skin dusted with brown sugar freckles. Pancake is sitting diligently at his feet waiting for a spare piece of bacon Steve might send his way. It’s such a domestic scene, so ridiculously normal it makes Bucky’s heart feel like it is going to burst right out of his chest and explode into fireworks. How lucky is he, to have a boyfriend like Steve? Someone who would put aside his own life to take care of him and spoil the shit out of his dog like he was his own? How on god’s green earth did he get so lucky? Bucky’s got no fucking clue but he’ll take it.

“You spoilin’ my dog Rogers?” Bucky asks in a rough voice, his arms crossed over his bare chest as Steve drops a piece of cooked bacon into Pancake’s waiting mouth. Steve jumps having been caught red handed. He turns and gives Bucky a sheepish smile.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He replies before Bucky walks over and captures his mouth with his own. They kiss slowly, Steve’s mouth parting to let Bucky’s tongue slip inside. His breath is probably disgusting but Steve doesn’t seem to mind, cupping Bucky’s jaw and pulling him close. Bucky runs his finger up and down Steve’s back, making him shiver. Steve pulls back, noses bumping. “Feeling better Buck?”

“Much.” Bucky nods, nipping at Steve’s bottom lip. “I had a hot doctor to nurse me back to health.”

“Hot doctor huh?” Steve smiles his hands resting on Bucky’s hips. “How hot are we talkin’?”

“Probably as hot as those eggs he’s burning.”

Steve curses and pulls the burning eggs off the heat as Bucky cackles. “This is the second time I’ve almost ruined food because of you.”

Bucky wipes at his eyes, grabbing two plates from the cabinet and setting them down on the table. “I’m gonna take that as a complement.”

“Well you shouldn’t.” Steve huffs. “Cuz if I don’t cook you’re gonna go hungry.”

“That’s why I keep Clint around, to get me food.” Bucky smiles as he takes a seat at the table, Steve following close behind with their breakfast. Pancake jumps and places his forepaws on the table searching for food. Without thinking Bucky slips him another piece of bacon, rubbing behind his ears.

“Now who’s doin’ the spoiling?”

Bucky glances down at his not so little dog looking up at him like the sun shines out of his ass. Sitting on the floor – neglected – is his food bowl, filled to the brim with kibble. It is quite possible that Bucky has actually spoiled his dog. Maybe just a little.

Bucky just shrugs. “I’m allowed to, he’s my dog.”

Steve rolls his eyes and digs into his eggs, flicking some to the floor for Pancake to lap up. “Oh hey, now that you’re coherent and all that, you got a call from work last night.”

Bucky chokes on his food in a panic. Fucking shit. “W-who was it?”

“Uh she said her name was Renata with Mr. Peirce’s office.” Steve eyes him warily in case he has to suddenly administer CPR because Bucky has fried egg lodged in his throat. “She said to call back at your earliest convenience.”

“Shit.” Bucky mumbles. He rubs at his temples and breathes deeply through his nose. This is the exact opposite of what he needs right now. What he needs is some quality time with his boyfriend, where he isn’t out of his head with a fever and puking everywhere. He doesn’t need work bullshit. Actually, he could go without work bullshit for the rest of his life. That would in fact be the best thing to ever happen to him.

“Do you know what your boss wants?” Steve questions before shoving the last of his eggs into his mouth.

“Knowing him, it’s nothing good.” Bucky grumbles stabbing at his food. He does have a pretty good idea what his boss wants seeing as his manuscript deadline was yesterday morning. And apparently his first time ever missing a deadline is enough to warrant a call from his boss. Go figure.

Bucky really, really, _really_ hates his boss. He hates him so much there aren’t words. Alexander Peirce is the embodiment of everything wrong in the world: opportunistic, full of ruthless ambition, and willing to screw over anyone for a fat sum. When Bucky first started out in the publishing business he worked for S.H.I.E.L.D Publishing House, a great organization for up and coming authors focused on turning out well written, meaningful books. Peirce and his right hand man Zola saw how successful S.H.I.E.L.D had become and pounced, seizing the publishing house in a hostile takeover and rebranding it Hydra Publishing. Sucked into a binding contract, Bucky was forced to stay on board and not jump ship with his coworkers, something Peirce loves to dangle over his head every chance he gets.

Yeah, Bucky really _fucking_ hates his boss. Bucky feels Steve’s foot tap against his ankle, drawing his attention away from his thoughts. Steve is looking at him with earnest blue eyes and a comforting smile. “You don’t know that. It could be anything.”

He knows Steve’s just trying to make him feel better, forever the optimist but Steve doesn’t know what Peirce is capable of. He’s never had the displeasure of making his horrible acquaintance, lucky him.

“Yeah,” Bucky says despite knowing better. “Maybe you’re right.”

Steve seems happy with his response going back to his food, keeping his foot resting against Bucky’s. Once the plates have been polished, Pancake getting more human food than he probably should, Bucky collects the dishes and begins to scrub them in the sink forcefully. Steve disappears into the bedroom while Bucky takes out his frustrations on the Pyrex set Clint bought him when he first moved in. He must go at it for a while, lost in his anger towards Peirce because when he looks up Steve is fully dressed and clipping the leash to Pancake’s collar.

“What’cha doin’?” He questions, wiping his sudsy hands on his boxer shorts.

“I thought I’d take Pancake of for a walk, let you have the place to yourself while you call your boss back.” Steve explains.

“I wanna come with you.” Bucky whines desperately wanting to put off that dreaded call for as long as possible.

“No you need to call your boss back.” Steve says as he walks over. His large hands wrap around his arms, his thumbs rubbing skin and metal soothingly. “I can tell you don’t want to but it could be important. Plus, the sooner you get it done,” Steve whispers in his ear, his voice pitched low and full of heat. “The sooner you can blow me in the shower.”

“Well why wait when we can do that right now?” Bucky replies looking up at him through his lashes. He reaches for the buckle on Steve’s pants, deft fingers pulling the leather through the loops. Steve’s hands drop to still Bucky’s attempts.

“Bucky.” Steve says gently bringing Bucky’s hands up to his mouth and kisses each knuckle with his soft lips. “Call your boss and then we can have some fun.”

Bucky groans pitifully but concedes, resting his head on Steve’s shoulders. “But I don’t wanna.”

“I know you don’t.” Steve chuckles running and hand down the back of Bucky’s head. “But you need to and I promise once you do, we’ll do whatever you want.”

“Whatever?” Bucky asks with a raised eyebrow.

Steve looks at him with trepidation but nods all the same. “Now go call your boss. We’ll be back soon.”

Bucky waves a dismissive hand and watches as Steve leads an excited Pancake out the door. An unsettling silence falls over the apartment, foreboding heavy in the air. Dragging his feet, Bucky makes his way into his bedroom and pulls on one of Steve’s shirts lying in a pile on the floor. It’s a bit loose around the shoulders and maybe a little dirty but it’s soft and comforting, something he knows he’s going to need if he wants to survive this conversation with his boss. Bucky grabs his phone and sits cross legged on his bed, his stomach twisting into knots, clenching and unclenching with anxiety.

The phone rings twice before Peirce’s deceivingly fatherly voice answers. “This is Peirce.”

“Mr. Peirce Sir, it’s James Barnes.” Bucky croaks out, his throat suddenly bone dry. “I’m returning your call.”

“James, it’s good to hear from you son.” Peirce says. “Renata said you were ill, I trust you’re feeling better then?”

Bucky nods. “Yes Sir, I am.”

“Good, that’s good to hear.” He replies off handedly, as if he could care less if Bucky was feeling better or on his death bed. He was a bastard like that. “James, how long have you worked for Hydra Publishing?"

Bucky swallows, dread curling in his belly. “About seven years now Sir.”

“Seven years, that’s quite a long time isn’t it?”

“Yes Sir.”

“And in those seven years how many deadlines have you missed?”

“None, Sir.”

“So imagine my surprise when I didn’t receive your manuscript picks yesterday.” Peirce says in a disappointing tone. “It’s very unsettling James, very unsettling.”

“I know Sir, I’m sorry.” Bucky says trying not to sound too desperate. “If you could give me one more day, I’ll have them sent in.”

“I’ve done quite a bit for you James, allowing you to work from home all these years. I’m beginning to wonder if that was a mistake.”

“Sir?” Bucky asks, confused. His hands have begun to sweat, uncomfortable and sticky as he holds the phone to his ear.

“This slip up is very unlike you James,” Peirce explains. “I can’t have you missing another deadline again.”

“I won’t Sir, I swear.” Bucky says in a rush. “It was a onetime deal. I’ll have the next batch of manuscripts in on time I promise.”

“That may be James but that’s a risk I’m not willing to take. I am going to need you to come into the office for now on. No more working from home.”

Bucky’s heart plummets to the floor, his carefully constructed world crashing down around him like a house of cards. “W-what?”

“I think it’s time you came back to the office son. That way I can keep a closer eye on you, make sure you’re not slacking off on your work.”

“Mr. Peirce Sir, I was sick that’s why I missed the deadline.” Bucky pleads no longer caring if he sounds desperate because he is, he is so very desperate. “I swear it won’t happen again.”

“Excuses are beneath you James.” Peirce says flatly.

“Please Sir,” He begs, his heart beating loudly in his ears. This is a disaster, a huge fucking disaster. He can’t go back to the office. The office is in Manhattan and Manhattan has streets, more streets than Bucky’s peaceful little hamlet here in Park Slope. There is no way in hell Bucky can do that. He just can’t. “Please, I can’t.”

“Then I’m afraid there isn’t room for you here at Hydra.” Peirce sighs firmly.

“No Sir, please let me explain -”

“I’ll have Renata send over the severance information.” He says in a dismissive voice, Bucky already an afterthought in his mind, another asset used up and spent. “Have a good day.”

The phone clicks in his ear, Bucky frozen in place. He just got fired. _He just got fired_.

What the ever loving fuck?

How is he going to pay rent? How will he afford food? Pay the bills? Take care of Pancake? Bucky freezes. _Pancake_.

Nick Fury’s words suddenly echo loudly in his ears: _people come to my shelter all the time with the promise to love and take of the animals they adopt but, more often than not, I see those animals end up right back where they started, or worse_. He’s going to lose Pancake. He’s not going to be able to afford to take care of him, fuck up his life, and lose him. Bucky is just like those people Fury thought him to be.

He’s going to lose his dog.

The panic hits him like a freight train, the ground spinning out beneath him in a black, bottomless pit. Fury is going to see him as unfit because he can no longer support himself and take Pancake away. He can’t breathe, the air is too thick to pull into his lungs, his hands shaking as he brings them to his head, curling in on himself.

His world is falling to pieces and there is nothing he can do about it. Pancake is as good as gone and Steve will leave the very minute he finds out that Bucky’s lost his job. He’ll be back at square one, broken, bloody, and completely alone.

There is a voice calling out to him over the buzzing in his ears but he can’t make out the words. They are lost to the paralyzing fear racking his body. He’s rocking back and forth on his bed, pulling at his hair.

He’s gonna lose Pancake. He’s gonna lose Pancake. He’s gonna lose Pancake. He’s gonna lose Pancake.

He’s gasping, harsh, ragged breaths but none of the air is reaching his lungs. His heart is beating a rapid cadence against his ribs, the feeling of lightheadedness growing – sending sharp painful tingles throughout his body in a frantic plea for oxygen that won’t come.

He’s gonna lose Pancake. He’s gonna lose Pancake. He’s gonna lose Pancake. He’s gonna lose Pancake.

A tongue is lapping at his knee, wet and sandpaper rough. It’s not enough to pull him from the cloud of panic but helps clear the haze.

“No one is gonna take Pancake Buck.” He hears Steve say his voice straining to remain calm but unable to hide his own panic. “I swear you’re not gonna lose him okay, I need you to breathe for me. Can you do that for me huh? Just breathe with me Bucky, nice and slow – in and out.”

Bucky tries, hands clenching down on his hair. He tries to slow his breath, in and out just like Steve said letting his heart beat slow and the tightness seep from his muscles.

As soon as Bucky lets out a slow, shaky breath and his rocking stops, he feels Steve’s arms wrap around him; Pancake letting out a pathetic whine dives between them, pushing his way through a tangle of limbs so he can snuggle up to Bucky’s chest.

“Fuck.” Bucky breathes, his energy sapped.

“I’ll say.” Steve replies, his voice muffled by Bucky’s hair. “What the fuck happened!? I was gone for like ten minutes!”

Bucky hides his face in the side of Steve’s neck. He doesn’t want to say, to face that shame that he doesn’t have a job – that he can’t provide for himself or his dog. A low, pained groan falls from his mouth involuntarily that causes Steve to pull away. His strong fingers grip Bucky’s chin, gently gliding his face so he can look him in the eye.

“Bucky, what happened?”

“I got fired.” Bucky says not able to look Steve head on, to face the disappointment that’s bound to be shining in his perfect blue eyes. “He fucking fired me.”

“Bucky.” Steve sighs kissing him carefully on the lips. “I’m so sorry.”

Agitation licks the inside of Bucky’s stomach, hot and wild, causing him to push himself off the bed and begin pacing. Pancake watches with sad eyes, tracking him as he moves back in forth. He runs his metal hand through his hair, breathing harshly through his nose. Bucky can feel the panic start to creep back in, his mind a mess of irrational fears and white hot anger.

“He fucking fired me that asshole son of a bitch!” he shouts. “After all I’ve done for him; all I’ve sacrificed, he fucking fires me because I missed one fucking deadline?! Who the hell does that?”

“Buck.” Steve placates with his hands held up in a non threatening manner. “I know you’re pissed and everything seems out of sorts but let’s not lose it okay? Let’s just take a deep breath -”

“Not lose it!?” Bucky turns on him, the fingernails of his flesh and bone hand digging into his palm. “I’ve already lost everything Steve! I don’t have a job! How am I going to pay rent? How am I going to by food for me and Pancake?! I’ve already lost everything!”

“You haven’t lost me.” Steve says. “I’m still here okay? And I’m gonna help you through this Bucky. It’s just a little speed bump in the road – nothing we can’t get over alright?”

Bucky huffs and shakes his head. “It’s not that easy Steve. It’s not like I can just up and get a new job!”

“Sure you can Bucky.” Steve responds getting to his feet. He comes to stand right in front of Bucky, holding him still by wrapping his hands around Bucky’s arms. “You’re charming, a hard worker, and damn smart. I’m sure there’s gonna be hundreds of publishing houses linin’ up to get you to work for them.”

“No Steve there’s not.” Bucky yells knocking Steve’s hands away. “You know why? Because of me. You know why Peirce fired me?”

“Because you missed a deadline?” “Yeah and because I wouldn’t go back and work at the office!” he snaps. Pancake whines, his paws worrying the bead spread. Bucky clenches his teeth together and tries to calm down. “He fired me because I wouldn’t go back to the office. Because I’m a pathetic excuse of a human being, who can barely make it to the park without a panic attack, who can’t always handle a car ride to his boyfriend’s house. How the hell am I going to make it to work huh? That’s downtown Manhattan Steve! I can’t even survive Brooklyn!”

“C’mon Buck don’t think like that.” Steve says. “I know you have your troubles but think of this as an opportunity to work on them! Broaden your horizons; take that step so you can make it out of Brooklyn, so you’re not confined to one area.”

“It doesn’t work like that Steve and you fucking know it.” Bucky hisses. “I’m not farting around here just because I don’t want to leave. I fucking can’t. Every time I try I have a panic attack, I think about that day and I can’t move. I can’t fucking leave okay, I can’t! Don’t you fucking get that?!”

“No Bucky.” Steve says his voice going hard. “I don’t get it. I don’t get it because you won’t explain it to me. You won’t let me in and that’s fine, I can wait because you’re worth it Bucky. If I have to wait a thousand years to hear your story you damn well better believe I’ll wait a thousand years. But don’t act like I should know when it’s you that’s holding back, it’s you who doesn’t trust me enough.”

Bucky reels back as if he’s been slapped, looking at Steve angry face with wide eyes. Steve’s shoulders slump and he pinches the bridge of his nose as if he’s trying to ward off a headache – a massive Bucky size headache. Bucky feels a pang of guilt in his belly and wants to do nothing more but kiss those worry lines away from Steve’s face.

He’s being unfair – irrational to the last person he ever wanted to push away. He knows he’s overreacting and he knows he owes Steve just about everything in the world. Hell, the man just spent the last 24 hours making sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit for Christ’s sake and here’s Bucky, being a class act asshole all because he lost his fucking job and can’t bring himself to tell Steve why he’s the way that he is – why he can’t leave.

“I think I need to go.” Steve says looking down at his feet. “You’re not in a good place to be talking about this and I…I need some time to cool off before I do something I regret.”

“Steve I -” Bucky says taking a step forward before stopping.

“I’m really sorry to hear about your job Bucky, I truly am.” Steve says walking over to the opened bedroom door. “But I don’t think I should be here right now.”

“Steve -” Bucky can feel his eyes burning, his heart thumping loudly. “I love you Bucky, so fucking much okay? I do.” he blinks away wetness from his own eyes. “Call me when you’re ready.”

With that, Steve slips from the bedroom and out of Bucky’s apartment, closing the front door softly. Bucky stands there frozen; feeling like his heart has been ripped from his chest and shattered into a million pieces on the floor.This is _his_ fault that Steve left. It wasn’t because he lost his job or he couldn’t handle the panic attack – it was all _Bucky_. He pushed him away. _He_ did this.

Bucky falls to the floor like a puppet that’s strings have been cut. His shoulders shake with an angry sob trying to claw their way out. Pancake hops down from the bed and pushes himself into Bucky’s space, letting Bucky wrap his arms around his body and bury his face in his soft fur. Fat tears fall from Bucky’s eyes as he lets himself cry.

This is his fault.

“I fucked it up.” He says out loud, his cry muffled by Pancakes fur. “I really fucked it up.”

Steve is gone and it is _his_ fault.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Sorry again for the wait! This is the last chapter of Prospect Park, a little fic born out of some crazy head canon that was never meant to be. Thank you so much to all who have commented, left kudos, subscribed, and bookmarked. It means the world to me!! Thank you!! And of course a special thank you to [Tsveti](http://fallenbarnes.tumblr.com) for being such a wonderful friend, this is for you muffin! 
> 
> Just a quick little note, this is my first attempt at writing smut so....just go easy on me please! 
> 
> As always, this is un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> I'll be back one more time with a little epilogue to tie it all up but until then, enjoy!

The couch has become Bucky’s best friend this past week. It’s soft and comfortable and is always there for him. Yes, the couch has _most definitely_ become Bucky’s best friend. In fact he doesn’t really move from his couch most days; he hides under the blanket his sister made for him during her crochet kick and keeps Pancake curled up against his chest like his favorite stuffed animal. He watches endless amounts of Netflix, wasting his days away with Chopped marathons and on the rare occasion, Cupcake Wars. What can he say, cooking shows are his weakness.

Pancake never leaves his side once, even following him into the bathroom, sitting patently on the rug when he decides that he should probably take a shower. If it wasn’t for him, Bucky’s pretty sure he would have gone off the deep end. But Pancake, like his couch, has been there for him – showering him sweet puppy kisses and the comfort of just being there.

His phone sits innocently on the coffee table untouched – it buzzes every now and again with a text from Clint or Natasha that he pointedly ignores. He wants call Steve so fucking bad but he can’t bring himself to do so.

Steve won’t want him, not after this. Not after he lashed out at him for no reason, after Steve had taken time out of his life to care for him – Bucky’s just not worth it.

And why would he be? He’s a mess and after everything Steve has done for him, Bucky still can’t give him what he deserves – the truth. And why can’t Bucky tell Steve the truth? Bucky has no fucking clue. Should he have taken Clint’s advice and kept seeing his therapist after he was released from the hospital? Probably because lord knows he needs some professional help. But no, Bucky had to be a stubborn little shit and quit no matter how hard his friends begged he keep at it. He was James _Fucking_ Buchanan Barnes god damn it, he didn’t need therapy. He wasn’t some whiny baby who needed to talk about his feelings and his problems. Bucky thought he was in control of his problems; had his own system of dealing and that was, not thinking about it at all.

Except…that didn’t work. In fact, it’s only made things worse for him in the long run. Ignoring the problem, keeping a lid on his fears has only made them grow over time. Had he taken Clint and Natasha’s advice and kept seeing his therapist then maybe things would be different today. Maybe he would be able to talk about that day without falling into a pit of crippling fear and all consuming panic. Maybe he’d be able to let people under his skin, live his life like he use to – happy and carefree, with no restrictions. But he didn’t and now here he is, unable to talk to the people closest to him about his trauma. And he doesn’t see that changing. If he can’t talk to his family, his friends, hell – even Steve the man he loves, how the hell is he going to be able to tell some stranger?

He wishes people would just understand that. He wishes people would understand how the words get stuck in throat, how the panic grips him tight vaulting him back to that day – forcing him to relive every ghastly moment all over again. Even now, knowing how messed up he is, he still can’t see himself getting help, showing his weakness, explaining why he is the way he is. He wishes people would get that and leave it alone; leave him to live his life keeping it all bottled up tight, never let it see the light of day.

But no, they want to talk. They want explanations. They want it all to come spilling out. Why do you feel this way, why is it so hard for you to cross a street? Why can’t you go back to your well paying job in the city? Why do you have panic attacks? Why are you so weird? Why are you so fucking weak?

Bucky snuggles down deeper into his couch as if hiding under the blanket will protect him from the barrage of thoughts swarming around his head, Pancake huffing in his sleep at the movement. His phone buzzes but he makes no move to answer it. Seconds later there is a thumping on the door, Clint’s angry voice calling out at him.

“I know you’re in there Barnes.” He yells. “Open the damn door.”

Bucky holds still, wishfully thinking that if he refuses to answer or move a muscle that Clint would just…go away. Unfortunately, he’s not that lucky and Clint – the bastard – knows how to pick locks. The door jiggles as Clint violates his privacy and bursts inside.

“You’re buyin’ me a new lock asshole.” Bucky grumbles from under his blanket.

“Well you could’ve just let me in and you wouldn’t be in this predicament.” Clint responds his arms laden down with groceries and one grease stained paper bag smelling deliciously like red meat.

“And you could have just stayed the fuck away.”

“Yeah but if I did that then who would come and bring you food? Offer his shoulder for you to cry on? No one, that’s who because I am your only friend.” Clint says dramatically as he starts putting the freshly bought foodstuffs away.

Bucky rolls his eyes under the safety of his blanket. Pancake is stirring, having being awoken from his nap by the sounds of a new voice. He licks at Bucky’s face once before hoping down from the couch and trotting over to welcome Clint, the traitor.

After some slightly sickening cooing noises and some playful yips emanating from the kitchen, Pancake comes running back to Bucky and burrows under the blanket.

“Dude when is the last time you cleaned, this place is like a pig sty.”

“You would know.” Bucky snaps back, his voice muffled. There is a moment of silence that almost has Bucky pulling back the blanket to see if Clint suddenly dropped dead but the sound of crinkling paper and obnoxious chewing grows louder, signaling Clint’s approach. Bucky pulls the blanket tighter around his self and ignores the grumbling of his belly.

“If you think Nat let’s me get our place this messy then you are sorely mistaken my friend.” Clint says with a mouthful of food. “Now are you gonna come out of that cocoon or do I have to make you come out?”

Normally Bucky would challenge Clint and force him to try to uncover him which would no doubt lead to some sort of wrestling match that Bucky would – sadly if not realistically – lose. But today, right now, he’s just not in the mood; so he slowly peels back his thick layer of protection and looks over at Clint with blood shot eyes.

“Jesus fuck you look awful.” Clint says without any real sympathy. He continues to chomp away at his burger, throwing his legs over the arm of the chair.

“Jeez, thanks.” Bucky grumbles with a roll of his eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be cheering me up or somethin’ like that?”

“Hell no that’s Natasha’s job. I’m here to get your sorry ass off this couch and running back into Rogers’ muscular arms.”

Bucky snorts humorlessly. “Yeah that’s not gonna happen.”

“Why not?” Clint questions. “Nat told me what happened. All you’ve gotta do is apologize for acting like an ass and he needs to apologize for leaving you during a panic attack. The way I see it, your stupid and his stupid just cancel each other out so I don’t see why apologizing is going to be so hard to do.”

“Because he wants to know about that day Clint and I can’t tell him.”

“Again, why not?”

Bucky pushes himself to his feet in agitation, dislodging Pancake from his position on the couch. Back with the same old song and dance, the questions that people demand he answer without grasping the concept that he fucking can’t.

“And don’t give me that bullshit that ‘you just can’t’ because I know you can you just don’t want to.”

“’The fuck do you know?!” Bucky hisses. “You don’t know what it’s like, what it feels like to think about that day, the panic I feel – the fear! You and Nat, my mom, my sister, the fucking doctors you all think it’s just _so fucking easy_ – that it doesn’t scare me, that it doesn’t hurt me to talk about it! Well y’all don’t know shit! So why don’t you take your fucking food and get the fuck out of my house.”

Bucky’s gasping, his chest heaving as white hot anger courses through his body. No one understands what it’s like for him, they think it’s so easy but it’s not. Do they really think he wants to live like this? Unable to speak about the trauma he has faced? Unable to open up to the man he loves so their relationship can grow? Do they really think that this is what he really wants? Because it’s not, it’s so far from what he wants. He wants to be with Steve, he wants to tell him everything about that day but he _fucking can’t._

“You done?” Clint asks his face blank.

Bucky growls in frustration and begins pacing his living room.

“You’re wrong you know,” Clint starts slowly in a soft voice. “I do know what it’s like to not want to talk about personal trauma, there’s a lot of people who feel the same way. They lock it up nice and tight, hide it away from the world and force themselves to keep on living because they don’t want to experience that pain again. Let me tell you something Bucky – that never ends well. You can’t keep that shit bottled up like you do because one day you’re gonna snap. You think you’re protecting yourself, protecting others but you’re not – you’re just causing more damage.

You say that it hurts, that it scares you when you think about it. Well yeah asshole it’s gonna hurt, it’s gonna be scary but listen, you’re here now. You survived. It’s like a broken bone, it’s gonna hurt before it gets better. But part of that healing it talking about it, it’s sharing your experience so the people who love you can help. That’s all we want man, we just want to help you get better; no one is going to see you any different, we’re not going to think you’re weak – because you’re not. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for Bucky. I know you don’t want to live like this, you never have but you’ve hidden yourself away, clamped your mouth shut so you don’t have to feel that pain. And it’s fucked you over man. You’re stuck in the rut that you’ll never get out of unless you start opening up.

I’m not saying you need to start telling everyone everything, I’m just saying that maybe you should clue Steve in – let him know your sufferings so you can start healing man. It’s not going to be easy and you’re gonna hate it; it’s gonna scare you and it’s gonna hurt but in the end buddy, you’ll start to move on. You’ll get the chance to live again, to be with Steve without holding back. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yeah but -” Bucky starts, his voice catching in his throat, standing deadly still as Clint’s words seep in. “What if I can’t do it Clint? What if I try and it just blows up in my face? What if I start talking and nothing happens?”

“Then you keep trying, you keep fighting Bucky. This isn’t an easy problem to solve. You’re not gonna get better over night. Hell, I don’t expect you to tell Steve every little detail but if even giving him the bare bones will be a step in the right direction. Recovery isn’t a straight line man, it’s going to be bumpy and difficult but you’re gonna make it through this if you just give it a chance.”

Bucky nods, a lump forming in his throat. His eyes are stinging with tears and his heart pounds loudly in his chest. He’s terrified. What Clint is asking sounds so simple, so easy but it has him shaking with fear. He knows he needs to do this if he wants Steve back. He’s spent the last three years ignoring the proverbial elephant in the room and now it’s all come to a head. It’s now or nothing – let Steve in or lose the man he loves forever.

His breaths start coming in quick, short gasps; his vision starting to grey around the edges. Clint is up and out of his seat in seconds, pushing him down onto the nearest surface and forcing his head between his knees.

“C’mon on man breathe with me, nice and slow – in and out.” Clint says calmly.

Bucky tires to control his breathing, swallowing back the panic and fear – forcing his self to clear his mind and to remain present. It’s hard but he feels Clint’s encouraging hand rubbing circles on his back and Pancake’s tongue licking across his cheek bones grounding him.

“I – I’m good, I’m fine.” He pants, rubbing his forehead against Pancake’s muzzle. “It’s alright, take your time.” Clint soothes still rubbing circles into his back. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

Bucky feels like he’s going to puke. Everything that Clint has said makes perfect sense, it’s the same shit he has been saying for the past three years only then, Bucky didn’t have anything to lose. The only person he had to care about then was himself. Now he has Pancake, the little pup that started this whole mess. Pancake made him take that first step in facing his fears and then came Steve. Steve who came so suddenly into his life that he now can’t imagine living without him. As much as he doesn’t want to talk about that day, to experience the pain and fear of reliving it – he pain and fear of losing Steve is far worse. With his mind made up, Bucky raises his head and looks over at Clint with wide, fearful eyes.

“I need -” Bucky croaks. “I need to talk to Steve.”

Clint’s whole face lights up, beaming from ear to ear. “Thatta boy!” Clint claps him on the back. “Now get cleaned up, we have a relationship to save.”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asks, running his hand through his hair as Clint starts rummaging around the mess called his apartment for a clean shirt. “I gotta get you over to Steve’s before you chicken out. Here,” he says throwing a long sleeved t-shit at his face. “Put this on, I’m gonna find you some pants.”

“It’s like ten o’clock at night Barton, can’t we do this at…I don’t know a more reasonable time?”

“No way man.” Clint responds from somewhere in his bedroom. “You gotta do this now while you got the momentum. “ He comes back into the living room holding a dark pair of jeans. Without hesitation, Clint pulls Bucky to his feet and yanks his sweatpants down to his ankles.

“What the _fuck_ Barton?!” Bucky cries indignantly, his cheeks burning. Clint Barton undressing him is _not_ something Bucky ever wanted to experience. _Ever_.

“Ain’t nothing I haven’t seen Barnes.” He replies, forcing Bucky into the jeans and pulling them up to his hips. “I sure hope you have clean underwear on because that is where I draw the line.” Clint says as he zips Bucky up and pats his ass lightly. “There, just as I expected – absolutely fuckable.”

“Christ Barton,” Bucky says weakly, stripping out of his sleep shirt before Clint decides to do it for him. “I’m going over there to bare my soul not get his dick in my ass.”

“Hey, you never know where soul baring can take you.” Clint tells him with a straight face. “Now c’mon, let’s get a movin’. Stop stalling.”

“How do you even know he’ll be home?” Bucky asks as his stuffs his feet into his shoes. Pancake is sitting at the door waiting patiently, ready to go where ever his humans are going. “He could be out with his new boyfriend or somethin’.”

“Nah, he’ll be there. Don’t worry.” Clint says flicking off the lights and grabbing Pancake’s leash.

“How do you know?”

Clint shrugs nonchalantly. “Nat and I have been keeping an eye on him.”

“What do you mean keeping an eye on him?”

“Oh you know, we may have driven past his house a few times, learned his schedule – you know normal precautionary information.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose and follows Clint out of his apartment. The evening air is thick with humidity, the crisp smell of rain hanging in air. “What is wrong with you two?” he moans, slipping in the front seat of Clint’s car. “You know what, never mind. Don’t answer that.”

Clint gives him a shit eating grin and starts the car, pulling out into the street. Pancake sits on Bucky’s lap, a warm presence to keep him from fidgeting too much. The streets are packed with cars; people milling about the sidewalks like ants in a line. Bucky cards his fingers through Pancake’s silky fur, his foot tapping mercilessly on the floor board. He’s not ready for this. Hell, he’s pretty sure that he’ll never be ready for this. But Steve is worth it, worth facing down the fear and pain. So Bucky clenches his jaw and hold on tightly to the small amount of courage he can muster up.

After what feels like one long, torturous car ride, Clint pulls up in front of Steve’s house and kills the engine. He turns in his seat to face Bucky head on.

“Remember Bucky – you don’t have to tell him everything. Just give him enough so he’ll understand.” Clint tells him. “Little steps okay?”

Bucky nods, this throat dry. He lets Pancake give him one more lick to the face before setting him down in the backseat. With shaking hands, Bucky opens the car door and steps out into the night. Clint gives him one last thumbs up before Bucky shuts the door and jogs up Steve’s stairs. He knocks sharp and quick, letting his hands fall limply to his side. Nerves coil deep in his belly, his heart hammering against his breast bone as all the possible ways this could go wrong flurry through his mind.

He is put out of his misery soon enough when the front door opens to reveal a clean shaven Steve, looking bleary eyed and disheveled. Even with bags under his eyes, Steve is still the most gorgeous guy Bucky has ever seen. He looks surprised to see Bucky standing on his step, like he never expected to see him again. It makes Bucky’s stomach curl with guilt. Steve looks as if he is about to say something but Bucky cuts him off, needing to get the festering words out in the open before he can bottle them up again.

“I need to talk to you.” He blurts out making Steve blink. “About why I can’t go back to work in Manhattan – why I am the way I am.”

Steve looks stricken, his face pale and wan. “Bucky-” he starts, sending a chill down Bucky’s spine; Steve doesn’t want him here, Steve wants him to leave. He can’t let that happen, he can’t let this fall apart, so his pushes ahead before Steve can tell him to get off his stoop.

“No I gotta do this now or I won’t be able to again.” Bucky shakes his head, his words sounding weak and feeble to his ears, the desperate plea of a dying man. “You gotta hear me out and then I’ll leave.”

Steve gives him a soft smile, resting one of his hands on his shoulder, the heat seeping into Bucky’s skin. Bucky leans into the touch, wanting nothing more than to surge forward and wrap his arms around Steve’s body, to breathe in his scent and live in his space forever.

“I know.” he says with a voice full of a kindness Bucky doesn’t think he deserves. “I was just going to invite you inside, it’ll be more comfortable.”

Bucky feels heat color his cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck. Just call him the master of jumping to the worst possible outcome. It seems to be his specialty. He follows Steve inside his warmly lit house, standing awkwardly in the living room, waiting as Steve waves goodbye to Clint. With every passing second he can feel his nerve slipping, he can feel the will to turn tail and run grow stronger so he plants himself on the couch and hugs one of Steve’s many decorative pillows close to his chest as if it was an anchor keeping him in place. He needs to get this out – he has to. As soon as the front door is closed Bucky dives head first into the horrible memories of that day.

“I was in a car accident – a hit and run.” He starts, his eyes focused on an old black and white photo of Steve and his mother. “I was workin’ late and it was dark out, I never saw the car comin’ until it was too late. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in a hospital and missin’ an arm. My Ma said I had been in a coma for the last three months.”

“Jesus Bucky.” Steve breathes, sitting down next to him and taking Bucky’s metal hand in his own. Bucky breathes harshly out of his nose and tries to will back the barrage of memories that are flooding his mind.

He can see it clearly, in perfect resolution, as if it had only happened yesterday. He remembers how tired he was – trying so hard to keep Peirce happy – the way he kept thinking that his eyes would just close at any second and refuse to open. He remembers the sudden blinding glare of the headlights as he made his way across the crosswalk before the car slammed into him with a screech of tires, flinging him into the air. He remembers the excruciating pain throbbing throughout his body, the sticky heat of blood as it filled his lungs. He remembers thinking _this is it, this is how I die_ before it all went black.

It’s all so loud, the memories screaming at him to remember – to feel. The panic grips his heart and squeezes, the pain violent and bloody.

“I had a hard time remembering things,” he continues his whole body shaking, his eyes clenched tight against the onslaught of memories. “The accident, what the date was – I even forgot my sister once but the doctor said that it would go away in time. I got the arm not long after and I started seein’ a shrink too, they thought I might be suffering from body dysmorphia or PTSD or some shit. I stopped goin’ after I was discharged from the hospital – didn’t think I needed it anymore.

But I did, Jesus Christ I did. For the first few months I was outta the hospital not a day went by that I didn’t have a panic attack. Car passin’ by the house, taking the trash out to the street, even the sound of a car horn would set me off. I couldn’t leave the house, couldn’t even step foot in a car without feeling like the walls were closing in. still do most of the time.” He laughs self deprecatingly. “That day I met you in the park…that was the first time in three years that I voluntarily left my house. The only reason I made it across the street is because Pancake took off the second the light changed – I thought I was gonna lose ‘em. Clint and Natasha, they think I’m getting better now because of you and Pancake and maybe I am, I mean I can walk to the park without feeling that I’m seconds away from getting hit and I can sit in a car without panicking but Steve I’m not better, not by a long shot.

It’s one thing to sit in the car for ten minutes to get to your place but Manhattan? Walking those streets again? There’s no way I could do it. And I couldn’t tell you about all this because I’m fucking weak. Because I hate thinking about that day, of what I lost, how screwed up I am now. And I get it if you don’t wanna be with me anymore – I’m damaged goods, you deserve so much better.”

Bucky can feel how his chest is rising and falling rapidly, how his palm is sweating – curled into a tight fist on his lap; the stickiness of his skin is nauseating, his fingernails digging into flesh acting as a welcomed reprieve from the tightness licking his belly. A small weight has been lifted from his shoulders but he’s unable to fully grasp at the momentous sensation of being free; that annoying albatross flying a little bit farther away yet still tethered to him.

It’s a small step, just as Clint said it would be – hardly anything at all but it’s still a step. There’s so much left to the story and one day and if by some miracle, Steve doesn’t give up on him, he’ll gladly share but he doesn’t see that happening anytime soon. He feels too raw, too over sensitized to say any more. The exposure of his fears is too fresh, like an exposed wound that has been poked and prodded until it bled. He needs time for the bleeding to stop before he picks at it again.

So he waits, biting at his cracked lips, staring at Steve’s unreadable face fighting back against the wave of unadulterated fear that is threatening to crash over him. It’s a minor miracle that he’s not currently a puddle on the floor, hyperventilating from repressed memories and panic induced terror. But as Steve continues to just stare at him, Bucky feels the tightness in his chest grow, the oxygen in the room thinning.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Steve says finally, still holding onto Bucky’s metal hand with a crushing grip.

Bucky blinks, reeling back as if he had been slapped. “W-what?”

“You heard me Barnes, I said you are a fucking idiot,” Steve repeats moving into Bucky’s space until he is just inches from his face. “To think that there is anyone out there better for me than you.”

Bucky is struck dumb with surprise. Steve uses the opportunity to seal his lips over his, licking at the worried flesh until they part, letting him inside. Steve kisses him passionately, his free hand cradling the back of Bucky’s head. It’s slow and every bit as confusing as his response to Bucky’s explanation but he can’t seem to fight the pull of Steve’s body being so close to him after their extended time apart. Bucky kisses back, languid and meaningful, his eyes slipping shut as Steve’s warm breath coasts over his face. The tightness in his chest starts to fade with every swipe of Steve’s tongue over his. The dark memories of the accident sliding back into the corners of his mind, washing away with the tenderness in Steve’s touch.

“I love you so much Bucky.” Steve says breaking them apart, Bucky frowning at the sudden loss of Steve’s lips against his own. “I’m so proud of you, for telling me that. I know it wasn’t easy so thank you.”

“It’s not everything,” Bucky whispers. “Not by a long shot, just the basics.”

Steve brushes a few stray hairs away from Bucky’s sweaty forehead with an adoring smile. “That’s okay Buck. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here because I love you. You’re not damaged goods, not to me.”

Bucky lets out a disbelieving huff that Steve chases away with a chaste kiss. “I mean it. I don’t think for a second that you are less of a person for having gone through that. In fact, I think you are pretty damn tough, the strongest guy I know. You’re stuck with me pal whether you like it or not so those rough patches, those setbacks? I’m gonna be right here by your side.”

Relief washes over him like a breath of fresh air, the guilt, the anxiety from the past week falling off of him like an old skin with every loving and heartfelt glace Steve sends his way. He was a fucking idiot to think Steve would just toss him aside like yesterdays news, to treat and see him any differently once he knew about his past. But then again, Bucky has always been the king of jumping to conclusions.

“’That mean you forgive me for actin’ like an ass?” Bucky questions, his nose bumping against Steve’s.

“There’s nothing to forgive Bucky.” Steve replies. “If there’s anyone who needs to be forgiven it’s me.”

“What are you talking about? You didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one acting like a complete asshole.”

“Yeah but you had a good reason didn’t you?” Steve smiles sadly. “I didn’t. I’m a doctor for crying out loud, I should have known that you were still in the throes of a panic attack – I should have stayed with you, made sure you were alright.”

“Steve-” Bucky starts with a shake of his head.

“I shouldn’t have said the things I did, I shouldn’t have pushed. I knew you were working through some things and I knew you’d tell me one day but, I was tired and just – I’m sorry Bucky for acting the way I did.”

“Now who’s the one bein’ a fucking idiot?” Bucky laughs softly, kissing Steve on the cheek. “You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for pal. We both messed up that day so let’s just call it even huh? My stupid plus your stupid – they cancel each other out.”

“I don’t know about that, my stupid comes with a healthy side of hypocrisy; sayin’ I’ll wait for you to open up then accusing you of not trusting me…that’s some messed up shit.”

“Well I’ve got my own side of messed up shit so the same logic applies.”

“Is that so?” Steve asks his eyes darkening with heat. One week apart clearly has clearly taken a toll on the good doctor as he scoots forward so he is practically sitting in Bucky’s lap. He wraps his hard arms around Bucky’s waist, pulling him in close. Bucky frees his metal hand from Steve’s grip and tugs at his shirt, pulling it up over his head to reveal his perfectly toned chest, flushed red with arousal and absolutely beautiful.

“Yeah,” Bucky says before licking at the sensitive skin behind Steve’s ear. “It’s been proven.”

“Proven? Says who?” he gasps as Bucky tweaks a nipple into hardness, goose bumps dotting his pale skin. Bucky can feel himself grow hard in his jeans, panting with need as Steve’s hands leave trails of fire from where they drag across his skin.

“A wise man.” he replies, mouthing along Steve’s neck. “Who also said that baring my soul might lead to other…recreational things.”

“Like fucking?” Steve asks the blue of his eyes nearly eclipsed by black.

“Yeah, like fucking.” Bucky nods breathlessly.

“Bedroom?”

“Fuck yes.” Bucky surges up, capturing Steve’s mouth with his own – hot and dirty.

Steve’s face breaks out in a dazzling smile as he intertwines their fingers, pulling Bucky up from the couch. They fumble their way up the stairs, Bucky laughing as Steve tires to go up backwards so he can keep kissing Bucky only to land gracelessly on his ass. When they make it to Steve’s room (thankfully in one piece), Bucky falls back on the bed, stripping off his shirt and undoing the buttons on his jeans. “You got stuff?” he asks tugging at his pants that don’t seem to want to come off. “Fuck these pants.” He growls.

“Well I was hoping to fuck you.” Steve replies smartly, grabbing lube and condoms from his nightstand and tossing them onto the bed.

“You can once I get these damn pants off Jesus Christ, how the hell did Clint get these on?”

Steve pauses from removing his own pants, raising a brow. “Do I wanna know?”

“Um, he has a thing about picking out my clothes?” Bucky chuckles nervously. “He’s weird so you should just forget about him and help me get these damn pants off.”

Steve just shakes his head and drops his pants on the floor, his cock springing free from the confines of his underwear – long and hard making Bucky’s mouth water with need. Curling his fingers into the belt loops, Steve gives one hearty tug and strips Bucky of his jeans. He leans down and places a chaste kiss to Bucky’s stomach, slowly trailing up his body; placing little nips and bites along the way, turning Bucky into putty beneath him. When he reaches Bucky’s lips, he kisses him sweetly, his fingers working Bucky’s underwear slowly down his thighs. “Steve.” Bucky breathes, grasping at Steve’s large shoulders for some kind of purchase as the fabric slides over his sensitive skin.

“You’re so beautiful Buck.” Steve whispers. “So damn beautiful.”

“Steve… _fuck_.” he groans, blindly grabbing at the lube next to him and thrusting it into Steve’s waiting hands. Before he knows it, two of Steve’s fingers are brushing over his entrance, making him cry out. His cock twitches against his stomach, so fucking hard and leaking precome. “C’mon Stevie…want you,” he keens.

Steve – the little shit – takes his time circling his hole, massaging the tight muscle until it’s loose and Bucky is a withering mess of wanton moans and breathless pleas. Latching onto a nipple, Steve swirls his tongue around the little nub as he pushes a finger in, Bucky’s back arching off of the bed – gasping.

“Fuck Bucky,” Steve groans, scissoring his fingers inside of him with shallow little thrusts that has Bucky pushing back, desperate and needy. “So fucking hot,”

Bucky feels strung out, the fullness of Steve’s fingers inside him, the heat from his body; it’s too much and not nearly enough. He needs more, he wants more. “Please, _Steve_ …please,”

“What Buck,” Steve breathes. “What do you want?”

“ _Stevie_ ,” he moans fucking himself back on Steve’s fingers, trying to find that one perfect spot inside of him that will send fireworks exploding behind his eyes. “ _Oh god_ …please,”

“Tell me Buck. Tell me what you want.”

Bucky pants as Steve’s free hand grips his thigh, hooking it over his shoulder, opening him up wider. He’s lost in the sensations, the pleasure that’s wracking his body all thanks to Steve, Steve and his glorious, wonderful hands. But he needs more, so much more. He needs Steve’s dick in him, filling him up until he can see straight.

One of Steve’s fingers brushes over his prostate, his body spasms as a wanton cry is ripped from his lips. “Fuck Steve! Fuck, I want you to fuck me… _oh shit_ …please Stevie, _please_ ,”

“Yeah Bucky.” Steve says pulling his finger out, Bucky whining at the sudden loss. “ _Fuck._ ”

There is the familiar sound of a crinkling wrapper and the slick of a condom before the head of Steve’s cock is lined up Bucky’s hole and he is pushing in. It burns, sharp, painful and so fucking perfect. It’s better than he could ever imagine the feeling of Steve slipping inside of him one blissful inch at a time.

“ _Steve_ ,” He groans when he is finally in all the way. Steve, ever the gentleman waits for Bucky to adjust, not moving an inch until he is sure Bucky is comfortable. Bucky pulls Steve down, crushing their lips together in a wet, dirty kiss. “Move.” He pants wanting nothing more than to have Steve in him always.

Steve begins to move his hips slowly, pulling out only a little, being as delicate as he can be before Bucky growls at him, fucking himself back on his cock fast and hard. The sound of skin on skin mixes with the breathy moans spilling from their lips between kisses as Steve fucks into Bucky, hitting his prostate every other trust. Bucky can feel his orgasm building, burning heat creeping up his spine. He pants Steve’s name over and over like a prayer, egging him on to give him more, more, _please god more_ …

A hand wraps around his length, moving in time with each mind shattering thrust, smearing precome all along his shaft.

“Fuck Bucky,” Steve gasps, “so fucking tight, _so perfect_ …love you.”

Bucky feels his heart skip a beat, his release on the verge of exploding. “Stevie…I’m gonna…I’m gonna,” he babbles incoherently, the pleasure of each thrust too overwhelming.

“Come on Buck.” Steve encourages, looking down at him with such devotion and lust. “Come for me.” With a single twist of Steve’s hand, Bucky is coming, crying out Steve’s name as he spills all over his chest. Steve follows seconds later fully sheathed in Bucky, looking absolutely fucked out and beautiful. Bucky closes his eyes, the last jolts of his orgasm rolling through him. He grunts as Steve pulls out, collapsing down next to him.

Bucky turns his head and takes in Steve profile, sweaty and flushed and oh so handsome. Fuck, he is the luckiest guy in the world.

“We should fight more often.” He chuckles. “That was…great.”

“Great?” Steve questions, turning to his side and propping his head up with his arm. “It was just _great_?”

“Mind blowing, earth shattering sex Steve, a real bang up time.” Buck amends with a smirk. “Best sex I ever had.”

“Much better.” Steve smiles before leaning down and kissing Bucky long a slow. Bucky can feel his heart swell in his chest, just about bursting with all the love he feels for the blonde haired, blue eyed doctor with a heart of gold. He’s so lucky, so fucking lucky that Steve is in his life – helping him to break out of the rut he’s been in for the last three years, being such a lovely, caring boyfriend. Never in a million years, or those dark years after the accident did he think he would ever find a love like this, a love to last a lifetime, a love to bring him back to life.

“Thank you.” Bucky says against his soft, pink lips.

“For what?” Steve asks, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

“For accepting me despite my fucked up brain, for not giving up on me. I can’t promise that it’s gonna be sunshine and daisies, but I want to get better. I wanna get back out in the world and I can only hope that you’ll be there with me.”

“Of course Bucky.” He kisses him on the cheek. “I’m never gonna give up on you, I’m gonna be with you every step of the way. And hey, if you ever feel like getting back into therapy, there’s a guy I work with – Sam Wilson – he specializes in trauma recovery, I’m sure he’ll give me the friends and family discount. For when you’re ready to take that step.”

“I love you.” Bucky says, a grin spreading across his face. “I love you so fucking much.”

Steve smiles, his blue eyes shining. “I love you too Buck, ‘til the end of the line.”

“’Til the end of the line.” Bucky agrees before kissing him gently on the lips. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s body pulling him in close. They’ll clean themselves up later but for right now, Bucky just wants to be held by Steve, to feel his love close in around him. There is no place in the world he’d rather be.

Tomorrow, they’ll pick Pancake up from Clint and Natasha’s and have a picnic in the park. They’ll be a real couple again, a couple that trusts each other completely and accepts one another despite their flaws. They’ll work through Bucky’s problems one little step at a time. They’ll fight again no doubt and they’ll always make up because Steve and Bucky, well they’ll love each other to the end time. A happy family born out of drunken dares and chance encounters in a city where anything can happen, in a place with endless possibilities, on a bench in Prospect Park.


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it has taken me so long to get this short little tag up so that's why I'm posting tonight instead of waiting for Monday. Between my summer classes and work, I just haven't had the time but I tried to get it done for y'all. Now sadly, the story is finished. Thank you again to all who have read, commented, bookmarked, subscribed, and left kudos. I greatly appreciate it!! I've got another Stucky fic in the works so keep an eye out! 
> 
> As always this is un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Thank you for reading and enjoy :)

Steve fumbles up the stairs with heavy feet. He feels just about ready to fall over and sleep for the next year but his stomach growls loudly, pushing him to keep moving – at least until he’s eaten something, then he can sleep away the next few decades. Steve nudges open the basement door and stumbles into the dark kitchen.

The house is quiet and still, no sounds of its inhabitants moving around in their familiar patterns. It was wishful thinking to hope Bucky would still be awake to sit with him while he wolfs down leftovers. Now that his boyfriend is back at work – going into an actual office two times a week to work for his old boss at a new publishing firm, Avenger Publishing, based ten minutes from Steve’s place– those late night chats have been trimmed down.

Not that Steve’s complaining, heavens no. In fact he couldn’t be happier. Ever since Bucky had started seeing Sam, getting the help he so desperately needed, his boyfriend’s life had begun to improve greatly. Not only had he agreed to move in with Steve and sell his little apartment but, he had started opening up more about the accident. Steve knows just about every detail from that day and he feels every gash and scrape as if they were his own. He knows that Tony Stark, _the Tony Stark_ of Stark Industries, designed and paid for Bucky’s arm as well as all of his hospital bills. Turns out, getting hit by a stolen multimillion dollar car owned by the flamboyant CEO is not without its perks. It’s still not an easy subject for Bucky to talk about but thanks to Sam’s help, he’s getting better.

But not seeing Bucky sitting there at his – no _their_ – kitchen table, eyes heavy with sleep but a warm smile on his face, still makes him feel a little disappointed. Kicking his shoes off and dropping his leather doctors bag down on the floor, he pads over to the fridge and pulls out the leftovers. He pops the food into the microwave and rubs his aching eyes. He’s got to stop signing on for these late night shifts or he’s gonna run himself into an early grave – or that’s what Bucky says.

After he has finished eating, Steve tip toes up stairs to their room fully expecting to see Bucky wrapped up like a little burrito with Pancake curled up in his doggy bed fast asleep. Instead, he sees them sprawled out on the bed, Pancake laying over Bucky’s stomach with a mess of marked up papers littering the room. Bucky’s mouth is slightly open as he snores ever so quietly in his sleep. Steve can’t help but laugh at the sight they make.

Stripping down to his boxers, Steve carefully gathers the papers and places them on Bucky’s desk. He nudges Pancake until he rolls off Bucky and onto his side, causing his boyfriend to moan at the loss of heat on his stomach. Steve smiles and drapes himself over Bucky, kissing along his jaw. Bucky’s eyelids part to reveal his beautiful grey eyes, the same eyes that look at him every day with so much love and intensity - like Steve is the only person in the world that matters. A sleepy smile breaks across Bucky’s face as he wraps his arms and legs around Steve’s body, pulling him in close. “Hey.” He whispers.

“Hey,” Steve responds feeling the tension drain from his muscles, chased away by the warmth of Bucky’s touch. “Good day at work?”

“Yeah, we made some real progress today; should be able to get out in a couple of months. How about you? Anyone puke on your shoes today?”

Steve groans and hides his face in Bucky’s neck. “That was one time.” He says against his skin. “And no, no one puked on my shoes; it was just a long day that’s all.”

“You got tomorrow off right?” Bucky asks, running his fingers through Steve’s hair making him shiver. “Yeah, thank god.”

“Good.” He hums.

“Why?” Steve questions.

“Because you’ve been pulling these long shifts all week, I miss you. Plus I’ve got a laundry list of all the terrible things I want to do to you. Make up for lost time you know?”

Steve chuckles and kisses behind Bucky’s ear. “I love you so fucking much you know that? From the day I first saw you ‘til the day I die, I’m gonna love you.”

“I love you too pal,” Bucky says, his voice faint as sleep gets its hold on him once more. “’til the end of the line.”

Steve gives him one last kiss before letting his own eyes slip shut, knowing that when he wakes Bucky will be there and the day after that and the day after that. Five, ten, fifty years down the road he knows Bucky will always be by his side, loving him for all that he is and all that he will ever be and that – well that’s all he could ever want.


End file.
